Yet Another Hero
by Innate Lymphoid Cell
Summary: In one world, a half-orc wizard watches helplessly as monsters run rampant through his kingdom's streets. In another, a hero unwillingly prepares to fend off a Wave of Calamity. The fickle whims of a demigod sends Rulk Wardweaver hurtling into a new world, alone and without directions. How might one wizard's intervention change the course of fate?
1. Chapter 1

**Trying my hand at writing something after watching the Shield Hero anime and playing Pathfinder: Kingmaker. While the titular character's backstory is based off the player character from the game, most of the Dungeons and Dragons side of things is based very loosely off the 3.5e and 5e ruleset.**

**As with most characters in an isekai setting, there's also going to be a big issue in terms of power scaling. Don't take this too seriously.**

**Given that my only form of personal exposure to D&D is the Baldur's Gate games and Pathfinder: Kingmaker, there's probably going to be plenty of inaccuracies and differences with the core ruleset. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_The battle is lost._

Rulk Wardweaver glared defiantly at the ball of golden light before him that even now blazed brighter than the stars of the Golarion night sky. A circlet of glowing glyphs orbited endlessly around the creature, their forms ever-shifting, colours ever-flickering. One moment, it was the green of amusement; the next, the red of anger and the black of malice.

Waves of surprised amusement and threatening intent emanated from the creature. Rulk continued struggling, feebly stringing together the threads of magic despite the protests of his already-battered mind. The creature continued, uncaring, regarding his efforts as one might an ant before one's feet. The glyphs rotated around itself, pausing fractionally intermittently as it inspected the downed forms of Rulk and his companions that had dared to defy fate itself.

"I did warn you," the Lantern King's voice echoed lazily in his mind, its nonchalance betraying none of the fierce battle that had been fought. "To challenge me is to challenge an Eldest. I am one of many strings that hold the world in place. Formidable though you may be, you are entirely insignificant before me."

Scorch marks littered the walls of the throne room from Octavia's errant casts of _Scorching Ray_. Tiles were shattered from mighty blows of Amiri's greatsword, leaving only deep gouges in the once-pristine floor of the palace that marked the Kingdom of the Stolen Lands. Nok-nok's daggers lay embedded deep into the ground, hands still clutching tight to his weapons away from where the rest of his body had been sent strewn across the room by the Lantern King's endless waves of destructive magic. Chunks of stone were rent from the floor and ceiling from Rulk's own Transmutation magics that altered the very landscape itself.

They had fought hard, but all their efforts had been for nought. He was a wizard of the eighteenth level, capable of casting potent ninth level spells, yet he and his party had barely even pushed the Lantern King past the point of annoyance.

Even while he tried to feebly push himself back to his feet, Rulk could see the slithering vines and tendrils of the flora of the First World creeping slowly across his throne room, spreading into the far reaches of his kingdom. High above, the night sky was tinted with an unnatural purple, the air howling and screeching as the lands of his Kingdom merged with those of the primordial First World itself. He could hear the cries of his subjects and his allies beyond the palace walls, the roars of Owlbears and Mandragoras still invading into the Material Plane.

_Maegar Varn. Jamandi Aldori. Armag. _One by one, familiar voices became silenced.

His companions lay unmoving, and he was unsure of whether or not they lived. It didn't matter. So long as _one_ of them survived, resurrection magics could bring them all back to life.

Rulk snarled, letting his intent guide the words that escaped his lips. His head pounded as he shaped the Weave that linked all the planes known and unknown to the font of raw magic that was the essence of all existence. He thrust his hand out, the reverberations of his incantation tugging on the threads of magic, infusing his spell with the warring hatred and despair that currently roared within his mind.

It was to no avail. The Lantern King turned its attention once more unto Rulk, and with a forceful tug that marked the magics of _Counterspell_,the meagre control that he held over his spell faded, a painful backlash searing its way up his arm.

"How curious!" A wave of yellow light sparked from one of the glyphs. _Joy_. "Even knowing how insignificant you are before me, still you fight!"

The last vestiges of strength left him. He slumped over, unable to support himself enough even to kneel, barely able to elevate his head to face the creature of chaos and deceit that had cursed his kingdom.

"Finish it," he rasped. Through eyes that could barely remain open, the half-orc could see the flames that spread across the capital of his kingdom. Chunks of earth and stone lay suspended in the air, caught by the chaotic energies that marked the transition between the Material Plane and the First World.

"Finish it?" Words marked with genuine confusion coursed through him. The colours shifted once more. "My dear king, do you not understand?"

"You are but an insignificant gnat before me." The Lantern King continued its speech, its form slowly drifting toward him. Rulk growled, ignoring the pain that simple action brought. "What do you own? A meagre patch of land; a few thousand souls? I am the very essence of chaos and magic, madness and deceit. My dominion far overshadows yours."

Its endless prattling was only prolonging the inevitable. He was about to demand an end to this farce, for the Lantern King to claim its victory, but the Eldest must have sensed his thoughts. A disapproving '_tsk' _flooded his ears.

"Such impatience." It had no arms or limbs to speak of, and yet Rulk had the distinct sensation that it _pointed_ toward Nyrissa, equally victim and perpetrator in the series of events that led to this current moment.

As punishment for attempting to steal the power of an Eldest, the Lantern King had demanded from her an Apology, earned through the destruction of a thousand kingdoms across millennia. It was her curse that had led to the Stag Lord's defeat, to Armag's madness and Irovetti's fall at Pitax, and now the destruction of Rulk's own kingdom. They had made a final attempt to defy the being that possessed the power of a god itself, and for their hubris they now paid the price.

"You see, her crime was theft. She sought to steal a kingdom, to seize the power of an _Eldest_. And so, her punishment was to offer the grains borne from the fall of a thousand kingdoms." A single fiery orb wafted lazily from its body, and Rulk heard the screams of the proud nymph that he both pitied and despised. "You, on the other hand, committed a far different crime."

"Your crime is _ignorance," _it adopted a lecturing tone. "You believed – as impossible as it sounds – that you could match an Eldest! That you could defeat _me!_" The colours cycled quickly, malevolent black fading into jovial yellow in an instant. "Still, you have amused me greatly. Who would ever have thought that the play that begun in ages past could have changed so drastically? That the _Tragedy of Nyrissa the Nymph_ would turn into the _Comedy of the Fool Rulk Wardweaver_?"

Rulk tried to make his indignation known, but the otherworldly pressure of the Eldest hovering before him stilled his lips.

"Still you remain ignorant!" It gave a single round of booming laughter, before falling into a deadly, silent calm. "I wonder," he mused. "Do you see me as a villain, or perhaps a simple joker? Make no mistake, mortal. I am not good, or evil. I simply _am. _I am the embodiment of chaos itself, born since the world was young. Being an _Eldest_ means being such a vast and self-sufficient value that one's equals becomes strangers and one's inferiors are entirely insignificant. Can your mortal mind even conceive of the truth? Of the essence of what I am?"

It sighed deeply. "For all your flaws, you have been amusing. This play is not yet over."

"You… have… won," Rulk forced out through the exhaustion gripping him. "My kingdom is destroyed. Tuskdale lies in ruins."

"Ah! How refreshing it must be to be so ignorant!" The world was fading away now. No longer could he see his doomed kingdom as it merged into the wild lands of the First World. His vision was darkening, creeping in from the edges. Soon, it would all be over.

Rulk could only hope that the Lantern King would see fit to grant him the peace of death. Perhaps he could meet his companions once more in the afterlife.

"The punishment must fit the crime," the Eldest's voice continued in a tone equally sagely and mocking. "You believed yourself capable of challenging one who plucks at the strings of fate itself. And so, I shall enlighten you."

He lacked the strength to speak. _Please_, he thought. _Let it end._

"End? My dearest king, this play has barely even begun!" it admonished. "Ah, but how best to educate your mortal mind?" It hummed in consideration, before giving yet another round of roaring laughter.

"Why, of course! Not entirely my domain, certainly, but it would be perfect! I could be but a spectator as events unfold! All enjoyment, and none of the hassle!"

The world shifted, exploding into light. In this vast expanse, there was only himself and the Lantern King.

What in all the planes was this nonsense that the Eldest was spouting? _Where_ in all the planes was he?

"An actor does not ask questions of the playwright," the Lantern King scolded, but there was no real malice in it. "I do wonder whether you will continue remaining ignorant? Or perhaps your mortal mind is capable of learning? Will you be the god that crushes those who grovel at your feet, or will you foolishly struggle against higher powers that you can barely comprehend? Will the Waves have the same result as the curse that befell your Kingdom?"

'_Waves'? The Ancient Curse? _

"Oh, I can hardly wait to see the next act! Will it be comedy, or tragedy?"

The world continued churning around him, white light turning into the glowing yellows and reds of flame, the black of night and the green of grass. None of it made any sense.

"Ah, but I almost forgot!" The world around them paused for an instant. A tendril of flickering flame extended out from the formless mass of primal energy that marked the Lantern King's true essence. The moment it connected with Rulk, his entire world lurched. Some of the exhaustion faded from him. There was a sense of something _more_, altogether ethereal and incomprehensible.

"A gift, for the amusement you have already given me. After all, every Hero needs his mark, yes?"

Before he could even process a further thought, the swirling mass of colours shifted frenziedly, and then exploded into light.

-o-o-o-

Rulk was no stranger to teleportation magic. While still incapable of casting the ninth level Gate spell, he had travelled through teleportation circles and countless hastily-casted _Dimension Doors_ in the past. The rush of wind and sound as the invisible threads of the Weave spun around him was something extremely familiar to him.

This was _anything_ but that. He had been ejected from whatever plane of existence the Lantern King had brought him to, tumbling onto solid ground below before finally rolling to a halt. He grunted, pushing himself to his feet, eyes still clearing from the blinding flash of light that marked his exit following the Lantern King's final cryptic words.

When he finally got his bearings several seconds later, there were several striking observations and realisations that leapt at him simultaneously.

One: He was alive, and he was alone.

That was clear enough. All around him, there were no signs of the companions that had stood by him since they first met at the Aldori mansion five years ago. The solid ground and altogether mundane environment around him suggested that he had been deposited somewhere within the Material Plane. The threads of the Weave still permeated through him and all existence.

An experimental, mindless cast of _Prestidigitation_ showed no differences in the workings of magic. Dust and soot disappeared from his robes that had been ruined both from the previous hours of fighting against the denizens of the First World and the Lantern King, and from his unceremonious arrival into wherever the Lantern King had brought him. A quick check of his belongings revealed that everything he carried during his final battle was still with him.

There was not much, of course. Beyond what he wore on his person, there were only a few healing potions, some basic spell reagents and the meagre contents of the bag of holding attached to his belt. He couldn't even remember the last time he ran inventory on the extradimensional space of his bag; most of his party's belongings were carried within the larger bag of holding that Valerie carried. Thankfully, his spellbook was still safely sequestered away within the bag.

Two: Something unnatural was happening.

He was no expert diviner, knowing just barely enough of the magics of the School of Divination to get by. Such experts could see into the workings of magic beyond sight itself, attaining an instinctual understanding over magic and all that it interacted with.

Still, he could feel how the threads of the Weave unravelled around him, mixing chaotically in the skies above that were tinted a dark red and purple. He had never travelled beyond the River Kingdoms of Golarion, but he highly doubted that this was its natural state. It was almost like how it had been hours earlier, when his kingdom bore the wrath of the Lantern King after he had dared rewrite the fate that the Eldest had in mind for Nyrissa and his kingdom.

Three, and an extension of the previous observation: There were monsters all around him.

They were creatures both familiar to him and yet entirely different from those he had encountered in the past. Swarms of locusts and zombies of all sorts advanced in all directions, some moving toward him while others continued toward fires in the distance. Now that the ringing in his ears had dissipated, he could hear the screams and cries for help that cut through the night sky, mimicking those of the subjects he had failed.

There was something _unnatural_ about these monsters. The zombies he had encountered before had a distinctive sense about them, the necromantic magics that sustained the reanimated corpses plainly evident to virtually any wizard with an iota of experience even without the use of the most basic of divination magics. These zombies were unlike that, still likely magical in origin, but powered by an entirely different and unfamiliar branch of magic.

He cursed at his lack of preparation. He could probably have gleaned more information about his current circumstances with a cast of _True Seeing_, but he had deemed the spell unlikely to be of use against the Lantern King and had not taken the time to refresh his memory regarding the exact workings of the spell. A sorcerer could have casted it through natural instinct and control over magic, but as a wizard Rulk had always learned and utilised his spells in a more structured manner of study, practice and memorisation.

Four: The Arcane Focus in his hand was not one that he had previously encountered.

His previous focus was a delicate thing, an orb made of carefully carved crystal procured from the finest Pitaxian craftsmen. Virtually every wizard utilised an arcane focus of some sort, whether it was an ornately-crafted staff or gem-studded wand. With them, wizards could interact with the Weave in ways that their own bodies could not, bypassing the material components of some simple spells.

The orb in his hand was unfamiliar. It radiated an obvious sense of magic, but he could not even begin to fathom its properties. There were layers upon layers of arcane runes, wards and enchantments that he couldn't decipher. He tried to cast an experimental _Identify_ spell, but even that failed to reveal its inner workings.

He didn't know whether this was part of the Lantern King's _gift_, or part of whatever twisted play that he was currently an actor of. It should have been concerning, but the next observation lowered its relative importance in the list of things that he needed to immediately deal with.

Five: He was either being subject to a potent mind-altering spell, suddenly a diviner beyond the likes of any he had encountered before, or hallucinating far more than the time that Nok-Nok had slipped some mushrooms gathered from their brief foray into the First World during the Season of Bloom into his food.

There were words and symbols scattered across his entire visual field. It was no _True Seeing_ that revealed the inner workings of magic; this was an altogether different type of information being presented to him. He saw his name presented in bold script, alongside other information about… _himself?_

**Rulk Wardweaver  
Wizard – Abjuration Specialist  
Level 1**

Level one? Impossible. He was an eighteenth level wizard, and a quick check of his mental faculties and the beginnings of the utterance of several words of power revealed that yes, he was still capable of casting even the most potent spells of his currently prepared repertoire. There were yet more symbols and words strewn before his eyes, all of which he understood their literal meaning but had no clue whatsoever as to how they currently pertained to him.

He hardly had time to consider his current situation. Zombies – and yes, whatever accursed mind-altering magic currently affecting him named them as such – were moving toward him. He had no idea what twisted game the Lantern King was playing, but he was thankful that his parting gift had partially rejuvenated him, allowing him to continue casting some spells that he had already expended despite having been utterly exhausted and drained following their completely one-sided battle.

He took stock of their advance, and made a decision. Holding a single outstretched hand, he began his incantation, his voice the conduit that bridged his material self with the Weave to guide and order raw magic into devastation unto his foes. The words mattered not, only the pitch and resonance, but most wizards still tended to stick to tradition, selecting words that matched the meaning of the spells they were about to cast.

"_Infernus…"_ he began, the thrum of power distorting his voice. "_Surgo…"_

The sigil that marked the magic of the School of Evocation sprung into existence in front of his outstretched hand, glyphs rotating slowly at first, then quickly picking up speed as the metaphysical threads of the Weave vibrated.

"_Rejicio!"_

With a final burst of power that marked the completion of his incantation, the _Fireball_ raced outward from the sigil of Evocation, landing in the middle of a group of advancing zombies and flying locusts with a massive crash of force and flame.

An instant later, all that was left of them was a crater in the ground, a mass of roaring flames, and ashes in the dirt.

Perhaps he had overdone it a little. They were but _zombies_, and a Third Level Fireball was a potent spell.

Cursed gods, his vision filled with strings of words of uncertain meaning once more.

**+10 EXP  
+10 EXP  
+10 EXP  
+10 EXP**

It continued for several more moments, centred on his vision even as he turned his head. Alright. _Now,_ there was no doubt that he was being subject to mind-altering magics. Thankfully, as a specialist of the School of Abjuration, he had the perfect spell to counter it.

After making sure that he was not in immediate danger of being attacked by the monsters all around, he began another incantation. The shield-like crest that marked Abjuration magic formed before himself, then stretched and encircled around him, rotating with increasing speed which each word of power that escaped his lips. More sigils formed within the primary sigil; an endless fractal coalescing inward as magical power raged around him.

It was an Eighth Level spell, entirely difficult to master, and many wizards died far before coming to learn of such magic. With each word, the pressure that grew in his mind only increased, yet he intoned each syllable perfectly as it shaped the threads of magic to his desired effect. When the final Word left his lips, the now-spherical matrix of the spell collapsed inward, centred upon his head.

_Mind Blank._

It was entirely ineffective.

Nothing about his vision changed, and every bit of learning and experience told Rulk that failure of his spell _should_ have been impossible. It was the perfect shield against all manner of magic that touched the mind, even against the most potent of spells that defied fate itself.

Which meant that this _wasn't_ the result of some obscure mind-magic. He couldn't even possibly be hallucinating, because that spell had completely negated Nok-Nok's best efforts at spiking his food with substances of dubious origin and effect.

A loud explosion in the distance interrupted his musing. An arcing flare streaked high up into the reddened sky. There was no ignoring the increasingly desperate cries for help and the roar of flames all around him now. There were many more questions to be answered, but the time to act was _now_.

He had no idea what the Lantern King had in store for him. He had no idea where his companions were. He didn't even know whether or not he was still in Golarion. The Lantern King had sought to teach him a lesson in futility, to accept the destruction that higher powers may bring. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility that these encroaching monsters were the minions of said power, and that the Lantern King fully expected him to rush to combat them.

He could stand aside and ignore all that was happening, to try and figure a way to return to his doomed kingdom. Or, he could remain _ignorant_, as the Lantern King had so kindly put it, and fight to save these unknown people that were currently struggling against the horde of creatures, as he had done in protection of his own subjects what felt only like hours ago.

He was Rulk Wardweaver, wizard. He was an _Abjurer_, one that mastered the art of forming and breaking shields, of protecting and banishing. He was a half-orc, scorned and feared by both human and orc, and many other races of Golarion. Prior to his embarking on the quest to reclaim the Stolen Lands, he had met their derision with defiance, working endlessly in his pursuit of magic despite the rarity of such gifts among half-orcs. The very lifeblood that marked his heritage refused to yield even in the face of the gods themselves.

Fate and destiny meant nothing. His life was not the plaything of gods or men. If this was to be a lesson, the Lantern King would find him to be a slow learner indeed. Even gods could fall, and some day Rulk would see the Eldest that thought itself a deity defeated.

He could have imagined it, but the orb in his hand seemed almost to hum.

-o-o-o-

Iwatani Naofumi's shield flashed through the air, barely catching a zombie's blade just moments before it would have skewered a villager holding a pitchfork with trembling hands. With a grunt, he turned his arm outward, forcing the zombie to stagger backwards.

"Go! Run!" he shouted, his heart pounding in his chest, not sparing even a single moment to look toward the man whose life he just saved.

"You're the Shield Hero –"

The villager's cries abruptly fell silent as the zombie advanced once more. Naofumi readied to defend, eyeing the blade carefully. He was about to move, when a sword pierced through the zombie's chest from behind, blood spattering out from where it exited.

Perfect timing. "Raphtalia!" he yelled, as the girl in question withdrew her blade, the zombie's corpse sliding lifelessly onto the already-bloodstained ground. "Go help the villagers evacuate!"

"What?" she turned toward him, startled. "But what about you?"

There was no time for argument. Lives were at stake here.

"I'll lure the enemies away. Go!" He sprinted away from her before she even had the chance to answer. He hoped that she would follow his order.

"But – " He ignored her protests. This was the best way for him to perform his duty as the Shield Hero.

He held his shield in front of him, his feet moving rapidly as he bowled over the monsters in his way. The plan was simple: he would draw their attention, give the villagers time to regroup and evacuate, and stall for time while Raphtalia and Melromarc's soldiers provided reinforcements.

Of course, there were so many flaws in this plan. It relied on him _surviving_ the endless horde currently running rampant through the village's streets, and even with his immense defensive abilities he was still vulnerable to their attacks. The soldiers, ever the loyal lapdogs of the King, would likely never provide assistance to the _Shield Hero._ The only one he could really count on was Raphtalia, and he had just ordered her away from assisting him.

He ordered the villagers to retreat, never pausing in his steps all the while. He was simply _moving_, his body and mouth running on autopilot, deflecting blows and drawing the ire of the invading monsters where he could.

He didn't know _why_ he was even protecting these villagers. Since his arrival to this world, he'd been treated with nothing but derision, and barred from returning back to his own home. He owed them nothing. He didn't need to risk his life for them.

And yet, he wouldn't do anything else.

He laughed bitterly as he eyed the horde of monsters at his back. At least the villagers were gone now. Quickly, he eyed his surroundings. His best option was –

There! The tower!

He bounded quickly toward it. One step; two, three. He leapt into the air, willing the strange power of his shield into being.

"Air Strike Shield!"

He barely paused as he landed on the corporeal construct that formed in mid-air, riding on the momentum of his initial movement as he jumped toward the watchtower. With a gripped tight around the supporting wooden beams, he pulled, hard, vaulting over onto the platform above.

_This would either be really awesome, or really stupid._

He inhaled deeply, then struck the bell of the watchtower hard. Once, twice, and then again.

Now, he _definitely_ had their attention. Monsters were shambling slowly toward him, climbing up the ladder at the tower's base, tumbling over one another as they slowly ascended.

_Here goes nothing._ He doused the platform with oil, and ignited the now highly-flammable platform with the torch in his hand. With a running start, he leapt off the platform that had served its purpose.

'_Rope Shield!'_ he thought, throwing his newly-morphed shield at a supporting beam of the tower. The rope grew taut, and for an instant he lay motionless in mid-air. With the momentum that he had, and the flames quickly laying waste to the wooden structure, it should –

The tower buckled. The ground raced toward him. He grimaced, transforming his shield back to a more durable one, holding it before him.

_This was going to suck. _He closed his eyes, bracing himself against the impact to come…

Except it _didn't. _Slowly, he looked around himself.

He was drifting toward the ground; slowly, leisurely.

_What?_

-o-o-o-

There were a lot of monsters, certainly, but Rulk had definitely overestimated the threat they posed during his initial inspection.

The zombies he was used to were fairly formidable in their own right, capable of taking out adventurers just barely starting out on their journeys. Entire adventuring parties could struggle against groups of the undead constructs made by some long-forgotten necromancer dwelling in a cave in the middle of nowhere. _These_ zombies were, for the lack of a better term, _goblin fodder._

Seriously, they could be destroyed by a single _cantrip_?!

He was currently nearing the entrance to the village he had seen fire the flare from where he had been sent by the Lantern King. With the result of his initial _Fireball _more than satisfactory, he had decided to tone down his spell-work, so as to conserve the higher-tier spells that he had prepared, memorised and engraved in his mind for more threatening opponents.

He couldn't possibly go lower than casting _cantrips, _magics so basic that they hardly required any conscious input and visualisation of the spell matrix to be used. Yet, the _Firebolt_ he casted had seared its way through the chest of one of the lumbering monsters, then impacted against a second, the resultant shockwave launching it into another group that lay behind.

He shook his head. He couldn't let his guard down. Seeing as it was the _Lantern King_ who sent him here, it certainly wouldn't be past the realm of possibility for an ancient dragon or lich to show up at any time. The Eldest was also known as the _Laughing Lie_ and the very essence of guile and deceit for a reason.

He stepped past the threshold that marked the village's borders. Already, portions of the wooden walls had collapsed from both the assaulting monsters and spreading flames. The air was thick with locusts that still continued to stream down from the chaotic energies in the sky above, while zombies approached whatever targets they could find.

Then, he heard a scream. A woman hugged a child tightly, shielding the younger one with her back, as a zombie raised its sword toward the pair.

_Mother and child._ Rulk growled, raising his hand and uttering an incantation in a single motion. The _Firebolt _struck the creature, and the scent of charred flesh mixed with those of blood and soot. Even as it fell, he was already launching another spell toward other targets. Zombies fell to casts of _Acid Splash_ and _Ray of Frost_, while _Gust_ sent the swarm of locusts into disarray as harsh winds carried them away from their targets.

**Level up! Level 3 attained.**

For all that this was easy, it would certainly be better if those damned numbers stopped appearing in his vision.

**EXP notifications turned off. **

_EXP notifications? _He had no idea what in all of Golarion that was supposed to mean, but given that he could finally _see _again he wasn't about to argue.

In the corner of his vision, he saw the mother slowly turn around as the blow that would end her life never came, only to startle upon catching sight of him. He was about to yell for them to escape through the path he had cleared just behind, but she instead wrapped her child even more tightly and began to _shriek_. Words came rapidly out of her mouth, desperation and fear clear in her voice, but…

The words themselves made no sense to him at all.

He wouldn't claim himself to be a particularly gifted linguist, certainly nowhere close to the skill displayed by Linzi and the bards of the Pitaxian Academy of Grand Arts. He knew the common language of Golarion, some basic orcish owing to his upbringing as a half-breed, and a smattering of some of the more obscure tongues of the River Kingdoms. The lexicon he possessed didn't come close to matching any of the words spewing out from her lips.

_Of course_ the Lantern King wouldn't make this easy. At least he was now almost certain that this wasn't Golarion.

He could probably understand her with a simple cast of _Comprehend Languages_, a rudimentary first level Divination spell that would enable understanding of any written or spoken language through the will of magic itself. It would require him to work on its ritual casting for a full ten minutes, given that he had not seen any reason to use the spell in a long time. He wasn't even sure whether he had ever needed to cast the spell at all before.

It didn't matter right now, anyway. He highly doubted these monsters would be willing to sit idly while he cast the spell.

Carefully, he moved toward the pair of humans, keeping an eye out for more of the monsters as he did so. "Peace," he said slowly, even though they wouldn't be able to understand him. Communication was more than just words and meaning. "I will not harm you."

She pushed her child behind herself, spreading her arms out to shield her with her own body. Her feet trembled, and fear was clear in her eyes, but it was mixed with defiance. She continued shouting rapidly, which by Rulk's best guess was some sort of threat.

He spread his arms out as non-threateningly as he could, then pointed toward the village entrance. "Go," he tried saying. "The way is clear. The monsters –"

A zombie tried to creep toward them from the side, but its life was ended by yet another incantation of power and blast of flame. "Go," he continued, his voice rising in amplitude. "Move!"

Slowly, the mother began lowering her arms, and ceased her speaking. She continued watching him cautiously, but she must have sensed the intent of his words, because she tugged quickly at her child's arm and moved past him.

He spared just a moment further to cover their retreat, commanding the winds to scatter the locusts that were flying toward them. Deeper in the village, he could still hear the sounds of clashing steel and cries for help.

He was still barely at the village entrance! Hurriedly, he continued, only to find yet more entrapped and injured people just in the street beyond. Quickly, he took in the sight before him, analysed the situation, and acted.

He froze a few zombies in their tracks with a cast of _Ray of Frost, _barking orders at the cornered villagers to escape. Like the woman, they froze, looking at him with equal amounts of fear and hate, caught by indecision. It required more forceful gesturing and pointing, coupled with him covering the retreat of their peers for them to leave.

_This is going too slow. _Their first instinct seemed to be viewing him as an enemy. He couldn't fault them for that, many orc clans did tend to be averse to human civilisations. But it seemed almost as though they had never seen an orc before.

_Because they hadn't._ It was simple. If his conjecture was right, this was _not_ Golarion, which meant that orcs may not even have existed here, as implausible as it sounded. It certainly fit their reactions to him, and the unknown language that they spoke.

It did mean that he was wasting far too much time trying to get them to understand that he was on _their_ side, at least until he could get his bearings. Between the denizens of whatever chaotic plane these creatures were currently spewing out from, and the terrified villagers that were the target of their ire, it seemed reasonable for him to lend them his support. Still, he couldn't afford to spend time convincing them of his intentions.

What options did he have? He could destroy entire swathes of the monsters, but such magics wouldn't easily discriminate between his enemies and the helpless villagers. Buying time and covering their retreat meant the loss of more lives deeper within the village. He needed a way to allow their retreat without spending precious moments striking down enemies that came at them from behind, which meant…

Now _that _was an idea.

A cast of _Prestidigitation_ sent a shower of rainbow sparks flying overhead, flitting rapidly through the air around him. Lights danced and sounds boomed. Ideas came to him quickly, things that were certain to catch the attention of the swarming monsters. A simple use of _Light _on the sleeve of his robe allowed him to stand out amidst the darkness of the village street; _Thunderclap_ was effective at both sending nearby zombies flying backward from shockwaves of force and drawing the ire of more monsters.

All these spells were the most basic of cantrips, but here they did the job. He effortlessly enshrouded himself with the semi-corporeal shield of _Mage Armour_, a First Level Abjuration spell that he had mastered casting with practised ease over his years of training.

He clutched tight on the protective magic, organising a strand of the spell's magic that was about to reform into its natural state in the Weave to create an arcane ward around himself. It was a technique known by wizards who chose to specialise in the School of Abjuration, allowing for the creation of secondary magical shields using magic that would otherwise be wasted in the wake of Abjuration spells.

Swords glanced off the essence of magical protection itself, sending zombies stumbling backward. Grinning widely, he began to run deeper into the village, drawing their attention all the while. He snorted at the dumbfounded look that some villagers gave him, as they stared at the sight for several more seconds before finally beginning to move.

On and on it went. The monsters were chipping away at his Arcane Ward, but it still remained fairly strong. There was no need to renew it with a second cast of _Mage Armour_ just yet. There were occasionally monsters that refused to acknowledge his existence despite the now even more eye-catching sight he had created courtesy of basic cantrips. Crude figurines made of sparks of bright, glowing colours were crafted through his use of _Prestidigitation_, paired alongside the most obnoxious sounds he could think of (Nok-Nok's laughter) that he made manifest through _Minor Illusion. _

For those monsters, he spared a moment to dispatch of them with a simple _Firebolt_ or _Ray of Frost_, before continuing on his way.

He was almost about to reach the centre of the village, if the large clearing that demarcated the village square was any indication, when he heard the sound of bells ringing off to the side. Slowing down just fractionally, he turned to look at the commotion, his natural darkvision that stemmed from his orcish heritage allowing him to catch sight of just what was going on.

There was a human with messy hair ringing the bell atop a watchtower. Some of the monsters trailing behind him turned their attention toward the newcomer, moving toward the tower. What was he doing? His position would be overrun at any instant, which meant…

_Ah. _He must have had the same idea.

It was bizarre, though. As far as Rulk could tell, this human held only a shield, and no weapon in his other hand. Even Valerie, fearless and talented with the Tower Shield as she was, wouldn't charge into battle without a sword or mace at her side.

He took advantage of the distraction that the human posed to send blasts of fire and waves of acid at several more zombies, but kept notice of the human's actions all the while. Rulk hoped that he had a plan, because as far as he could tell, he was about to become swarmed at any minute.

He narrowed his eyes as the human began to set fire to the tower. Surely he wouldn't –

The human leapt off from the side, his shield somehow magically transforming into a rope. Rulk's eyes widened at the sight. Enchanted weapons and armour weren't uncommon, but he had never heard of one with such a strange capability. Surely it wouldn't be worth the time, effort and gold to enchant a shield for so mundane a purpose?

Rulk cursed as the tower began to collapse. The human was falling, curling his body and holding his hands out as he raced toward the ground. Rulk had but moments to act.

He reacted on pure instinct. _Everyone_ knew the perfect spell to use in such a situation.

_Feather Fall._

It took just a moment longer before he realised that he had no idea what the matrix was for that exact spell, having been hastily scrawled in his spellbook a long time ago. It shouldn't have worked.

Yet his mouth and lips moved of their own accord, as magic warped around his chosen target, sending him drifting slowly toward the ground below.

It was impossible. It _should_ be impossible. He was a wizard, not someone gifted in spontaneous casting such as a bard or sorcerer. Every single spell he used had to be meticulously prepared, its sigils and glyphs carved firmly into his mind, repeated as though a mantra each day.

Then, something changed in the glowing text that littered his vision.

**SP: 10/20**

Something strange was afoot, but this was not the time to dwell on it. The human was about to land right into an advancing pack of zombies. Aiming carefully, he launched the second and last _Fireball _that he had prepared, annihilating the entire group. Had these '_EXP notifications' _not been disabled, no doubt he would have been blinded by their glowing messages once more.

"Human!" Rulk shouted, altering the battlefield with repeated casting of _Control Flames_ to spread flames across the scattered debris. Separated as they were, Rulk couldn't immediately provide any immediate assistance to the human. The shield-warrior took a moment to regain his bearings, shaking his head, before catching sight of Rulk. He took a wary step backward, holding his shield before him.

Rulk swore. This was hardly the time for hostility. Based on how the human had acted, no doubt the pair of them had attracted virtually all the monsters assailing the village. He continued working his way through the horde of monsters, conserving his higher-tier spells where he could, but made sure to keep an eye on the warrior.

Unfamiliar shouts cut through the battlefield. Rulk turned at the sound. The villagers had reorganised behind the warrior, clutching makeshift weapons. An admirable effort, but their stances suggested they were utterly untrained. The warrior must have thought the same thing, because he was exchanging fierce words with the villager leading the rest.

So caught up in their argument were they that they didn't notice the giant zombie wearing what appeared to be spiked plate armour approaching them, a giant club raised as it charged. Probably more formidable than the rest, then.

Rulk prepared a spell, a single pointed finger outstretched toward the giant. It was _probably_ overkill, based on how weak the other zombies were, but better to be safe than sorry.

"_Pulvis!"_

His incantation consisted of a single word, but it betrayed none of the complexity that the spell required to reorganise the threads of the Weave for his desired effect of _unmaking_. A thin, green beam shot forth from his finger, connecting with the creature at the base of its neck.

_Disintegrate._ A Sixth Level Transmutation spell. From where the beam struck, the substance forming the creature began to vanish, order giving way to entropy, extending upward to the entirety of its head and downward to its knees. Plated greaves remained stationary in the dirt, the rest of its body and armour turned into dust that still slowly scattered in the wind.

_That_ certainly caught the attention of the humans. "Pay attention!" Rulk yelled, gesturing at the remaining monsters. He didn't have many good options to take them out, at least not without potentially harming the humans that were now alternating between staring at him with wide eyes and fending off the approaching monsters.

With the battles leading up to his doomed clash with the Lantern King and the spells he used since his arrival in this strange land, he had used up all of the spells of Sixth Level and above that he had prepared. He had some mid-tier utility-based magic left available to him, spells aimed more to control the battlefield than for outright destructive purposes. His role had always been more geared towards providing support to Octavia, Nok-Nok and Amiri while they demonstrated their destructive capabilities. Beyond that, all he had were cantrips and the _Mage Armour_ spell that he could freely use from all the time he'd spent devoting the spell's nature into memory each night.

Of course, there _was_ that strange single episode of spontaneous casting, but Rulk had no idea how he had managed it. It wasn't an option that he could rely on.

The humans were rallying. The warrior was shouting orders at them, moving them about the battlefield. After a moment longer, Rulk decided that he seemed to know what he was doing, and could probably devote a few more spells to support his efforts.

He took a quick glance at the battlefield, noting the chokepoints leading up into the square that they were now boxed in. _Too narrow, too wide, too close to the villagers,_ _but that one…_

Perfect. Rulk inhaled, stamping hard on the ground. "_Fingo_…" he incanted. The pressure began building up, as the earth at his target location slowly vibrated. "_Voro…"_

The earth sunk inward, and he hurried to the final word of power of the incantation, the words flowing together with the natural ebb and flow of the Weave. He reached to press a single finger down into the ground below, and completed his spell. "_Fero!"_

_Erupting Earth._ Monsters were equally churned and crushed by the tectonic movements of the earth, as they were forcefully ejected out into the ranks of their peers behind. Some were launched toward the rallying humans, who, to their credit, reacted quickly and cut them down before they could recover.

The zombies were being slowed in their tracks at that particular entry point, easing the humans' burden slightly. Still, though, more zombies were advancing, and a second use of the same spell removed that as an option he could use.

At that moment, a flash of steel caught his eye. He turned, barely paying attention as a zombie's claws bounced off his Arcane Ward, only to be launched away by a _Thunderclap_ a moment later. There was a humanoid figure moving rapidly through the scores of monsters, deftly wielding a sword to cut them down. She looked almost human, except for a tail and animal-like ears that he could just barely catch between the instants where she slowed her movements.

Rulk could quite fairly say that he had never met a race like that before, but given that she seemed to be on their side, he wasn't about to continue down that line of questioning. There were more pressing matters.

The newcomer regrouped with the shield-warrior, exchanging a rapid conversation between striking down the approaching monsters. She briefly recoiled at the sight of Rulk, pointing at him and exchanging hurried words with the warrior. He must have had convinced her that he was on their side in this conflict, because she only regarded Rulk for a moment longer before slaying more zombies.

She was competent, but was being forced to retreat more than once in order to avoid swipes of the monsters' claws and weapons. Evidently, though formidable in offense, she couldn't deflect attacks the same way the warrior had. Mentally, he compared her to the rogues that he was more familiar with. If it worked with Nok-Nok, then…

Temporarily ceasing his casts of _Firebolt_ and _Acid Splash_, he concentrated hard on his desired spell, willing magic to suffuse an area as large as was possible, imparting his intent to restrain and bind. His voice brought form to his desire, a simple whisper that reached the ears of his foes by the will of magic, and with a final forceful slam of his palm on the ground his spell was completed.

_Phantasmal Web._ An Illusion that existed only in the mind of his desired targets, the Fifth Level spell was the perfect solution to his current issues. In the past, it had allowed Nok-Nok to flit between foes encumbered by illusionary webs made very real for the victims of the spell, striking them down without mercy while Octavia rained down bolts of fire as they stood completely still.

Now, it enabled what looked to be his temporarily allies to move between monsters unhindered, attacking with whatever weapons they held in their hands while evading the monsters' retaliatory attacks with their movements restricted as they were.

It was working. With the way he had shaped the battlefield, the flow of monsters toward the village square was slowing, allowing the villagers to hold their position despite their obvious lack of skill. Rulk was able to slowly carve his way through the monsters that stood between him and the humans. There were probably less than twenty zombies that separated them now. His Arcane Ward was still holding strong, although he would soon need to replenish the protective magical energies suffusing it.

_Whoosh_. The sound of rushing air reached his ears, but he didn't even need to turn to identify their origin. Bright sparks were being launched into their air just beyond the village's borders, trailing high up in the night sky.

_What_? Rulk's eyes narrowed, watching as the flares coalesced high above the middle of their village. He could sense that they were of magical origin, but their purpose eluded him. What could they –

The glowing orb that hung high above exploded, and a shower of smaller balls of flame began to rain down. It didn't take much longer for Rulk to understand their purpose. _Melf's Minute Meteors _was an Evocation spell he was well familiar with, and while probably not the same brand of magic the purpose of these flares was probably the same. The problem was that there were a _lot_ of them.

Abandoning his position, he rushed toward the band of humans, who were now beginning to come to the same realisation as himself. To his credit, the shield-bearer was feebly trying to protect those under his charge, shielding the swordfighter with his own body while she hid under his cloak, but there were far too many villagers for him alone to protect. He projected a shield above the villagers' position – some form of Abjuration magic that Rulk was unfamiliar with, perhaps? – but Rulk could tell that the construct was too fragile and covered too small an area to protect the villagers.

The Arcane Ward flared brightly as he ran right into the strikes of several zombies. It shattered to another blow, but now Rulk was positioned close enough to the group of scared villagers to offer help of his own. Closing his eyes, he muttered an incantation, focusing on the desired effect and the organisation of the spellform.

_Shielding. Group. Flames. Let the will of magic prevail against the flames above._

_Protection from Energy, Communal. _From a hand raised up toward the sky, the glyph flared into life comfortably above their heads, holding strong as the projectiles of magical fire impacted against his shield. The cowering villagers looked at the sight with amazement, watching as the semi-corporeal blue shield absorbed what would have almost certainly been their deaths. Outside of the barrier, monsters were being burnt to a crisp by the dozens.

When the magical barrage was at last over, he replenished his Arcane Ward with the residual power of the Abjuration spell, restoring it to its pristine state. Looking around, it seemed as though that from the combination of the monsters he'd slain from where he'd approached the village, the path that the warrior had taken from the opposite end of the village, and the flames that had scorched all those they had brought with them, the monsters were now almost completely cleared out. Idly, he launched a _Firebolt_ at a badly burnt zombie that was clawing its way up from the ground, having miraculously survived the assault.

Someone had launched the spell to destroy the monsters, possibly after having seen the same distress flare that alerted Rulk of the villagers' need for assistance. Had they known that the villagers hadn't yet evacuated?

He turned to face the humans whose lives he had just saved. Caution was clear in their eyes, and Rulk couldn't blame them for such. From their perspective, he had managed to take down more of those zombies than the rest of them combined, and hadn't received so much as a scratch, having had his Arcane Ward to take the brunt of the monsters' attacks. He'd certainly received the same look from the people of Pitax, back when he and his companions had taken the war that King Irovetti started to the streets of Pitax itself.

But where there was wariness, there was also a sense of gratefulness. As far as first impressions went, it was a fairly decent one, especially considering that he was incapable of conversing with them.

The villager in front tried to speak with him, but again it was a fruitless endeavour. As it was with the woman earlier, they shared no common language. After making sure that his companion hadn't been harmed, the pair began to approach Rulk. They had proven themselves fairly capable during the battle, and while he had met and fought both alongside and against more formidable fighers, they were clearly a cut above the villagers.

He was curious of their identities and station, adding on to the list of things he needed answers for that had grown immensely since being transported to this land, but he couldn't see a way of getting information short of casting both _Comprehend Languages_ and _Tongues_. Those spells would need to be a priority for him as soon as he could spare the time to study them in his spellbook.

The one with the shield began speaking, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. But unlike the previous attempts with the human villagers, this time there was a single word that Rulk knew.

_Orc. _Rulk's eyes widened with surprise. Did he know of his race?

"Orc," Rulk repeated, pointing at himself. "Half-orc, to be precise. Do you speak Common?"

His newest acquaintance looked equally surprised at having been understood, but stared uncomprehendingly at the rest of his question. He didn't speak the Common tongue of Golarion, then. But how could he have identified his race?

"Orc," he tried with the villagers. Unlike the shield-bearer, the term seemed to be unfamiliar to them, as they looked between the pair with confusion. By his side, the female sword-fighter didn't fare better, asking rapid questions to her companion.

At that point, the red skies and swirling vortices high above suddenly cleared, and were replaced with their normal blue, dotted all around with clouds. The chaotic energies that had been ever-present since his arrival into this land abruptly vanished, which only added on to the questions Rulk needed answers for. There was an almost analogous similarity to the changes in the landscape at the Bald Hilltop after his party fended off the waves of creatures of the First World that emerged from portals, each time the Ancient Curse befell his kingdom.

Wait.

'_Wave'_? Hadn't the Lantern King mentioned something similar?

It was perplexing. Rulk was about to begin the ritual casting of _Comprehend Languages_ despite the long period that he would need to channel and guide the magics of the Weave, if only so that he could at least understand what they were saying. Before he could even step back and explain his intentions as best he could with charades, however, the sound of screeching steel and loud shouts interrupted him.

-o-o-o-

The one who had come to the aid of the village was _definitely_ an orc. Naofumi didn't even need any of the any Heroes who were more familiar with this world to tell him that. Virtually every fantasy world portrayed orcs in almost the same way.

While shorter and of a less stocky build than Naofumi would have expected, based on the common fantasy depiction of orcs, he was still larger than most humans he'd seen in this world. With his grey skin, coarse facial features, prominent canines and generally intimidating appearance all around, the orc certainly fit the image of the monsters in many of the fantasy novels he'd read.

The orc had as much as confirmed it, when Naofumi asked him if he was an orc. Strangely, though, he couldn't understand the rest of his words, even though since being summoned to this world he had been able to understand the local language instinctively through his Legendary Weapon.

It was strange, though. Weren't they supposed to be bloodthirsty creatures that ate humans alive? Weren't they created from shadow and flame to destroy the realms of men? Why had he come to the assistance of the Village of Lute when no one else had? He had destroyed the monsters so easily with the magic he possessed, and then even protected the villagers when Naofumi couldn't! He wasn't certain of just who or what had caused the shower of meteors, but he had his suspicions.

At least the Wave was over now. Ren, Itsuki and Motoyasu must have defeated the boss monster. Surely, now, they could have a chance to attempt to communicate with the orc.

"Naofumi-sama?" Raphtalia asked by his side, interrupting his thoughts. She still gripped onto her sword tightly. Now that the battle was over, the others were uncertain about the orc's intentions.

"It's okay, Raphtalia," he said, turning to look at her reassuringly. "He doesn't mean to hurt us, I think."

He pointed at the orc for emphasis. He was currently speaking to one of the villagers that had returned to fight by Naofumi's side, repeating the single question of "_Orc?"_ to the villagers.

"Shield Hero, do you know what he's saying?" the villager asked, backing away slowly from the orc, uncertain of his intentions. This world had never heard of orcs, then?

"He's an orc," he replied simply. "I can't understand the rest of what he's saying, but from where I come from –"

His words were interrupted by the sound of marching feet and booming laughter. Conversations fell silent, as the group turned toward the sound.

"Hah! We burned them all to death at once!"

_Soldiers._

They were the ones who had launched that spell, and would have killed him, Raphtalia and the villagers without a second thought. Naofumi gripped his shield tight, and in the corner of his vision he saw Raphtalia's body tensing.

The first of the soldiers began to enter the village square through one of the streets. "Oh? The Shield Hero? You're quite tough. And what –"

For the tiniest of instants, he didn't speak. When he finally reacted to the orc's presence, it was with the drawing of swords and orders to the rest of his soldiers.

"MONSTER!" he shouted, holding his sword and shield before himself. Behind him, others were readying their weapons. "TO ARMS!"

"Wait, don't –" Naofumi's voice joined those of the villagers. _Just wait a moment, damn it! _

Most of the soldiers didn't even pause, but some hesitated for a moment. The one who had given the order charged toward the orc, sword raised high. Naofumi tried to intervene, but he and those that followed his orders were moving too fast.

"WATCH OUT!" he warned, both for the orc's and the soldiers' sake. The former because he'd come to protect the village where others hadn't; the latter because he _really_ didn't want their stupidity to piss off an orc that he'd seen destroy a countless number of zombies, literally turn a boss monster into dust by _pointing his finger_, and easily shield against a rain of fire that he wasn't completely certain even he could have defended against.

The orc hesitated for a moment, looking between Naofumi and the soldiers, but came to a decision quickly. He held a single hand in front of him, pointing at the charging soldier. A bright glyph the size of his palm formed in the air, and though the soldier started slightly he did not stop in his advance. Naofumi could only hope that the orc wouldn't turn on the rest of them because of the actions of these soldiers.

He was in the middle of swinging his sword, when the orc unleashed his spell. With a single, unfamiliar word, an array of dazzling light was released, a spectrum of colours that erupted in a cone outward. Even though Naofumi was standing well away from the spell, for an instant he too was blinded by the brilliant light.

"Magic!" the soldier shouted, his attack now stalled. He staggered backward with his sword held loosely in one hand, the other rubbing at his eyes. "I can't see!"

Behind him, the others that had been caught in the spell didn't fare any better. Other soldiers paused mid-charge, eyeing the orc warily.

"Don't! He helped us!" one of the villagers tried. Others quickly echoed his words. Some soldiers regarded them incredulously, but began to lower their weapons. Most, however, were beginning to encircle the orc.

"Stop!" Naofumi tried again, and Raphtalia joined in with her own shouts, already drawing her sword. None of the soldiers paid them any regard. They had almost gotten himself, Raphtalia and the villagers killed with their earlier stunt, and now they were turning on the one that had saved the village? He turned to look at the orc, preparing to defend him if necessary, but he…

…he was _smiling?_

For all that the situation looked dire for him, the orc only looked _amused_.

He pointed his hand off to one side, sparks and crackles appearing in the air some distance away in that direction. Heads turned instinctively at the noise, and though Naofumi couldn't see the orc he distinctively heard a loud snort and a single word being uttered behind him while his back was turned.

When they looked back toward the orc, there was no trace of him. As one, the soldiers, villagers, Naofumi and Raphtalia began looking around quickly for any sight of the orc.

"Where did he go?"

"Find him!"

"Kill the monster!"

"I see him!" One voice cut above the rest a moment later. Naofumi turned, seeing a soldier pointing over toward the other end of the village. Again, heads turned to face that direction. Well over a hundred metres away, the orc was standing on the roof of a building, yet another small glyph forming in the air.

An instant later, with a wave of his hand, he vanished completely.

"Find him!"

Despite the best efforts of the soldiers, there was no longer any sign of the orc. The one who had given the initial order cursed loudly, having only now recovered from the spell that the orc had used.

"Damn!" he swore, turning toward Naofumi and the villagers. He tensed. "Where did that monster go?"

"Like we were _trying_ to tell you, that orc was on our side!" Naofumi retorted. "He protected us from the spell _you_ casted that would have killed everyone in the village!"

He gestured behind himself at the villagers, who were now glaring fiercely at the soldiers, offering their own support to him. The knight remained unfazed, storming up toward Naofumi.

"Orc?" he repeated. "I've heard rumours about you, Shield Hero, but colluding with monsters? Have you truly no shame? But considering the company you keep…" He looked toward Raphtalia, shaking his head. "A _demi-human_? Really?"

Naofumi held his hand tight on Raphtalia's shoulders, despite how much he wanted to see that knight gutted. She shook under his grip, her sword-arm only kept restrained by Naofumi. Still, though, he shot a warning look toward the knight. Any further insult, and he might just be tempted to let Raphtalia deal with him.

"That's right. Know your place." With those final words, he turned to address the group as a whole.

"Listen up! For the safety of the Kingdom, this monster is to be hunted down and killed!" There were loud protests from all those that had fought in the village, but the knight continued to speak. "The King will be notified about the existence of this monster! Everyone with information about this monster is to report to me immediately! Those who fail to comply will be considered criminals and enemies of the Kingdom!"

The shouts continued for several moments longer, but the knight was unfazed. Naofumi was caught with indecision. The orc, hunted down and killed? He should come to the orc's defence, but he couldn't just directly oppose the soldiers either.

For a long while, no one came forward. Other villagers that had earlier been evacuated were beginning to return to the ruins of their homes, only to come across the impasse between the soldiers and villagers. Finally, under the threat of arrest, the first of the villagers began to speak, and the story was slowly pieced together.

He had arrived from the other end of the village from where Naofumi and Raphtalia entered. He'd saved the lives of a mother and child, covering their escape with spells that they and the soldiers had never seen or heard of before. Other villagers had been rescued by blasts of ice and acid that appeared from nowhere that ate through the flesh of zombies. He had moved rubble aside with but a word and a wave of his hand, freeing the villagers who had been trapped behind them as flames slowly but surely would have killed them.

At some point, he had changed his tactics, working in a way remarkably similar to what Naofumi had done. Lights and sounds caught the attention of the monsters, and he lured them to the village square where he'd then slowed Naofumi's descent from the falling tower with yet another spell.

He was clearly a wizard or mage, although Naofumi couldn't think of a single orc wizard in any of the fantasy settings he'd read. Weren't they supposed to be bloodthirsty savages?

Though clearly unwilling to betray the trust of the orc who had saved them, the recount of events had been forced out of the villagers. When at last there was nothing left that they could tell the knight, the soldiers gave only a further warning to report any further information about the orc immediately, leaving the villagers with only the ruins of their homes and the grieving over the lives that had been lost in the devastation.

"Naofumi-sama," Raphtalia spoke quietly. "Who was he?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly.

"He helped us."

"He did," he agreed.

"This isn't right." She looked at him directly, and Naofumi could see his own indignation over the situation mirrored in her eyes.

"No," he echoed hollowly. "It isn't."

For a long time, neither of them spoke, watching the villagers as they grieved over the losses that they had suffered. The people of this world had never treated him with anything close to respect or fairness, but looking at these villagers now he very distinctly felt the pain that they were currently experiencing.

"Come, Raphtalia," he said, moving toward the villagers. "Let's help."

This wasn't just a simple _isekai_ anymore. The Waves and the destruction they caused were so very real, and it would have only been worse had the orc not come to the village's defence. He hoped that when the next Wave came, he would stand alongside them as allies, rather than turn against them as enemies as a result of the stupidity that the knight had displayed.

-o-o-o-

_Journal Entry #1_

_Seeing as circumstances have changed in light of my current predicament, I have taken the initiative of restarting the numbering of my journal entries. Although this organised method of recording my thoughts and plans bores me, it is a necessity if I am to figure out the Lantern King's motives and my actions going forward._

_Where to begin? Following my untimely deposition into this new land, I chose to come to the defence of a nearby village. While the monsters themselves were far easier than those I had come across in the River Kingdoms, they were far more numerous. Note to self: prepare spells effective at dealing with multiple targets._

_The denizens of this land seem to be mostly humans. There was a single female wielding a sword who looked to have animalistic features, most notably a tail and raccoon-like ears, but I have not yet determined whether or not she is an anomaly. Regrettably, communication remains a big issue. I will make sure to memorise and prepare the Comprehend Languages and Tongues spells for future use, following the completion of this journal entry._

_Of note was the shield-bearing fighter who seemed to recognise my race. I will endeavour to uncover more information about him, and why he might be in possession of such information._

_Unfortunately, before I could begin to attempt casting the ritual for the Comprehend Languages spell to attempt communication with the locals, a group of what appeared to be armoured knights interrupted with open hostility directed toward me. I do not recognise the emblem that they bear, but such information would certainly be helpful in identifying my next course of action. _

_Intriguingly, they do not appear to have a high opinion of the villagers and the shield-warrior, given that the knights ignored their attempts at de-escalation. Clearly, I will need to further study the social structure of the local land, as much as I abhorred such a hierarchy in my own kingdom._

_I had decided that perhaps reacting to their hostility with force may not be the wisest decision, since they do seem to hold a position of authority within this land. I instead chose to escape from their assault, with remarkably simple uses of Colour Spray, a secondary distraction that they (rather humourously – Nok-Nok would certainly approve) fell for courtesy of Prestidigitation, and a quick Dimension Door onto a rooftop some distance away. Greater Invisibility then allowed for my swift escape._

_I am currently writing this entry in a forest clearing a few hours following my escape. Leomund's Tiny Hut should provide me with sufficient safety for the next several hours, and I should be able to prepare my spells for the coming day. I have also taken the time to sift through the contents of my bag of holding. Aside from my spellbook, some reagents and potions, there is only just slightly more than five thousand pieces of gold in my possession, with the vast remainder having been placed with Valerie. Hopefully, this amount will be sufficient for my use, without any knowledge of the local economic situation as of yet._

_I believe that it is in my current best interests to find out more information about this land. As such, I will be studying and memorising spells suited for this particular purpose. Alter Self, Disguise Self, Comprehend Languages, Tongues, Dimension Door, Greater Invisibility and various Enchantment spells immediately spring to mind. _

_Speaking of spells: the blasted orb and strange phenomenon affecting my sight revealed yet another mystery! During my period of escape, I had somehow been able to cast Expeditious Retreat, despite not having had the spell prepared. That bout of spontaneous casting again drained this 'SP', and a 'notification' appeared detailing that I now had access to spells of the School of Transmutation._

_At that point, the orb transformed itself, and a tree-like lattice appeared with the images of several First Level Transmutation spells. There were even spells that a Wizard should not have access to, including Cantrips such as Thaumaturgy! Most of these are inaccessible at present, although I hypothesise that further use of the orb will reveal more of such mysteries and unlock the use of these spells. In time, perhaps there would be Second Level spells added to the branches of the tree?_

_Further experimentation revealed a similar phenomenon with Abjuration spells, with an associated transformation of the orb, although I am unable to access any of the other Schools of Magic at present. Would they also be unlocked with time, perhaps?_

_The orb itself worries me. Is it part of the Lantern King's machinations? I have heard of patrons of deities granting power to devout followers, but he is certainly no deity, and such a power had never previously been documented. But from where else could it have originated?_

_One thing is clear from my interactions with the orb, though. It is magical and sentient. Many tales of old have cautioned against such sentient weapons, although thus far it has seemed fairly benign. Further attempts at peering past its wards and arcane locks have failed, and I suspect that even potent Divination spells such as Legend Lore would yield little result. Wish remains an option following a period of rest, but I am loathe to utilise such a dangerous spell for so mundane a purpose. Many a wizard have been crippled by the strain of altering the very fabric of reality with that spell._

_Ah, but perhaps this is enough prattling for now. I shall spend the next several hours studying and choosing spells for the next day's use, and hopefully achieve mastery of Alter Self or Disguise Self, which I daresay will see much use in the days to come, given the hostility that had been shown to me previously. I intend to investigate the nearby city tomorrow, which looks to be far larger than the earlier village._

_Thus ends this entry._

_\- Rulk Wardweaver_

'_Mercy before Law'_

-o-o-o-

Penning down the motto under which he had ruled his kingdom since Linzi's impromptu coronation ceremony just more than a year prior, Rulk sighed, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Now that he had some time to think, he couldn't help but wonder about what had happened to his companions and his kingdom.

Had the Lantern King destroyed them utterly, or had he returned it to Golarion? Had they suffered the same fate as himself, transported somewhere in this world? Perhaps they were even in another world?

Were he a more talented Diviner, he could possibly Scry their location. Unfortunately, he had never learned the spell, seeing as Harrim and Tristian were both capable of using it. Hopefully, he would be able to come across someone who had access to such magic, or a scroll detailing the necessary spell-work.

He closed the enchanted journal, watching the glyphs on its surface flash as the locking magic worked its course.

_Still more work to be done._ Taking out his spellbook, he continued the preparatory work for the next day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Spent way too long trying to tease apart the Shield Hero wiki page, since I've not seen or read anything beyond the anime. Probably a bunch of inaccuracies, but I'm just going to try and carry on with this. **

**...probably not a very smart idea, writing fanfiction of two fandoms without much understanding of either.**

**Might make future chapters a bit shorter, we'll see. ****Not sure about the story's future direction at the moment and how much of canon will be incorporated. Hopefully it's not too terrible.**

* * *

Sneaking into the city was simple enough. Having been able to use _Alter Self_ to change his appearance, he could seamlessly blend in with the other humans that crowded the city's streets. With the spell allowing him to change his appearance at will with just a few seconds of concentration at any time, even if the city guards somehow grew suspicious of him it would be a fairly trivial task to lose their line of sight, change his physical features and evade detection. The orb itself had been impossible to separate from his person, and he'd taken to hiding it from sight using _Disguise Self._

He'd elected to take the appearance of a nondescript commoner he'd seen numerous times in Tuskdale, with a few more of his subjects – both men and women – ready in mind if he needed another disguise. With a long night's rest and special attention given to memorising the _Comprehend Languages _and _Tongues_ spell, perhaps at last he could finally get some answers. With each cast of both spells lasting for an hour, he should be able to cast the spells enough times to get a decent amount of information.

The first thing he'd learned with the use of the former spell was that the city (and Kingdom) was named '_Melromarc'_, a name also adopted by the royal line. The banner at the city gates and signs that provided directions to the city hadn't been exactly subtle. Now walking along the streets of the market, Rulk kept his eyes and ears open for any information that could be of use.

"Did you hear? They say that the Shield Hero accused the Spear Hero of cheating in their duel!" a woman's voice came from the side.

"Seriously?" The person she was talking to gasped. "How despicable!"

Ah, right. The second thing he'd learned was that he had, apparently, chosen the wrong day to arrive in the city.

As it turned out, the King has thrown a lavish party the previous night, as a reward for '_Heroes'_ of some sort. There had been a dramatic duel between the Shield and Spear heroes, an act of chivalry by the latter over the unjust treatment of a demi-human slave by the former. Supposedly, the duel resulted in the removal of a slave crest from the demi-human, or so the rumours went.

It would have been a good idea to infiltrate the castle and listen in on the nobles and royalty, but alas that ship had sailed.

He assumed that the Shield Hero and his slave had been the pair he met the night before. That title certainly suited the warrior he'd seen the day before, seeing as he didn't have any other weapon in his hands.

Still, though, the story didn't seem entirely accurate. From how he had seen the pair interact, they looked to be more like friends, rather than the girl being enslaved into forced servitude. Rulk would give them the benefit of the doubt. Beside, most of the people gossiping about the events that occurred in the castle were going by simple hearsay, and Rulk knew just how much rumours could get twisted. He had heard some odd tales about himself during his time as king, such as how he was capable of growing into an enormous dragon and how he had challenged King Irovetti to a duel of martial prowess and won.

Fine, the former _may_ have been true, but it had been through the use of _Dragonkind III_, rather than him being a dragon in disguise as the commoner had claimed.

Back on topic. Questionable though the rumours may be, they did reveal a wealth of information about this land. For starters, these 'Heroes' were apparently revered figures, although the Shield Hero seemed generally disliked. Demi-humans also existed, which he assumed was a term used to refer to people like the girl and many others with animal-like features who he now saw walking along the city streets. It seemed to be a derogatory term, possibly akin to the way that half-orcs and half-elves were viewed among the civilisations of their full-blooded kin.

Slaves were also apparently part of the local culture. Rulk wasn't too fond of slavery, having seen just how many scars both physical and mental Regongar and Octavia carried from their time in servitude to the Technic League. It irked him that it was a subject talked about so candidly and with acceptance in this land, but it wasn't yet time for him to intervene.

No; first he needed more information. The Lantern King had made mention of '_Waves'_, and he'd heard the term 'Waves of Calamity' being thrown around in conversations that he'd eavesdropped upon. That seemed like a good place to start.

"… the monster that escaped from the Village of Lute?"

"They say that the monster had skin as dark as night, and killed several of the poor villagers with his bare hands!"

_That _caught his attention. Rulk turned toward where the commotion came from. There were a few people gathered in front of a notice board of some sort, and he slowly moved to join them.

"What's going on?" he asked, the transmutation magics altering the very structure of his vocal cords making sure that he sounded nothing at all like his normal self.

"Haven't you heard?" the person in front turned to look at him, a strangely eager gleam in his eyes. "The knights say that a dangerous monster escaped during the Wave yesterday! Anyone with information leading to his capture will be generously rewarded!"

He gestured toward the board, and it took a moment for Rulk to comprehend what he was looking at. When understanding finally set in, he wasn't sure whether he should feel insulted or strangely complimented.

There was a poster bearing the depiction of what was clearly an orc, but had grossly exaggerated certain features of what he assumed was meant to be himself. The figure was stooped over, hunched, clutching the mysterious orb in a clawed hand. His canines were far sharper than any half-orc (or full-blooded orc, for that matter) he had seen before, with eyes that were wide with primal savagery.

Raising a single eyebrow, Rulk began reading the accompanying description.

**WANTED: MONSTER**

**Bounty: 500 Silver pieces**

_A savage monster was yesterday encountered in the confines of Lute Village. Despite the best efforts of our brave knights, the creature depicted above cowardly escaped through guile and trickery. Eye-witnesses have claimed that the monster is capable of casting highly dangerous and potent magic. Several of our knights have sustained grievous injuries during attempts to engage this foe._

_It has even been claimed that this beast is not above killing others of its kind. The bloodthirsty creature should be considered hostile and highly dangerous. Be warned that among the known abilities of this monster are teleportation, shielding, fire and earth magics. Its current whereabouts are unknown, but it is believed that he still remains in the vicinity of Lute Village._

_The Crown appeals for information that could lead to the creature's capture or elimination. Any person who comes forth with workable information will be rewarded with ten (10) silver pieces. Furthermore, a bounty of five hundred (500) silver pieces has been ordered on the creature's head by King Melromarc himself._

_For the glory of Melromarc!_

_Signed_

_Captain of the Guard_

It was certainly… _interesting_, for lack of a better term. It was factually accurate, but also simultaneously completely wrong. It clearly exaggerated his attempt at non-violent self-defense against the soldiers, while glossing over how he had saved the lives of the villagers.

As far as slander went, though, he had certainly seen far worse. King Irovetti had forced the bards of his city to act as a mouthpiece for his propaganda during the war, which only made attempting to annex Pitax into his kingdom after his conquering of the city a major struggle. It had only been through the efforts of his diplomats that those untruths had been quashed.

"What do you think?" the man's excited voice interrupted his thoughts. "Ten silver pieces, just for information! That's enough to feed my family for at least two weeks, if not a month!"

Ah. Rulk hadn't yet browsed the goods sold by the vendors of the market street he was on, but that particular tidbit certainly helped in framing the local value of currency. If the relative value of copper, silver and gold worked as it did back in Golarion, it would mean that he probably wouldn't have to worry about money in the near future; at least if there weren't major changes to his plans in the near future.

The man was still looking at him, and Rulk realised with a start he was expected to reply. "Must be a dangerous monster, if the crown is offering such a grand reward," he deflected. Then, for his own personal amusement, he continued, "I wonder what kind of injuries the knights must have suffered?"

'_Grievous injuries' indeed. Perhaps he should have given them a taste of Blindness rather than casting Colour Spray._

"Must have been serious injuries, looking at this foul creature." The man shivered. "Say, you don't think he killed any of them, did you?"

"It's rubbish, is what it is!" another person interjected loudly. The man's head swiveled to face him, eager to hear more about the deplorable beast, probably. Rulk studied the newcomer's face closely. Strange, where had –

"I was there!" he said, marching up toward the man who'd spoken to Rulk, glaring at him fiercely. "He's no monster! He saved the lives of my wife and child! He and the Shield Hero helped protect the village!"

"You're from Lute?" the first one gasped, asking quickly. "And the _Shield Hero_, you say? I heard that he forced a slave to fight for him, and worse! Is that true?"

"All lies!" the man scoffed. "The soldiers damn near got us all killed with the Firestorm that they used! It was the Shield Hero and this '_monster' _that saved us!"

"Surely not?" he looked around uneasily. "They say he raped that poor adventurer as well –"

"As if!" the villager retorted angrily. "He was the only hero to come protect our village! None of the other heroes showed up! In fact -"

More people were starting to become drawn to the commotion. It would probably be a good idea to intervene, before the man said anything else he may regret. Based on what he'd seen of this kingdom thus far, he doubted that the crown and local knights would take kindly to his words.

"How _is_ your village?" Rulk cut into his tirade. The man turned to look at him with surprise, at though forgetting that there had been others listening in, the barest traces of uneasiness starting to set in at the realisation of just what he'd been saying. "I heard that Lute had been overrun by monsters."

He felt slightly guilty at how the man's face fell at that reminder, but it was at least better than the alternative of attracting the attention of the city guards. For a moment, the villager didn't speak. "We're alive," he finally said softly. "Our homes are gone, but we're alive. Tabi and little James… the orc saved them from the zombies, if he hadn't been there…" His voice trailed off, thick with emotion.

Rulk's heartbeat quickened. _Orc, _he had said.

It was perhaps not the best time to pry answers from the man, considering his current emotional state, but Rulk was desperate for some answers.

"Orc?"

"Hmm?" the villager snapped out of his moment of contemplation. "Naofumi-sama called him that, said that it was something from his world…"

"I see…"

From _his_ world? He was assuming that Naofumi was the Shield Hero's name, given how he alone had identified Rulk's race. Thank Mystryl that _Comprehend Languages_ allowed him to parse the meaning of the honorary suffix that the villager had attached to his name. Did that mean that the four Heroes, like himself, did not originate from this land? Had they been sent here by the Lantern King as well?

It still didn't make sense, though. He hadn't understood the slightest bit of Common, meaning that he wasn't from Golarion. While the Eldest were known to interact with all known planes of existence, he just couldn't see how the Shield Hero could be part of his machinations. Objectively speaking, while he certainly did have a good showing in the battle the day before, Rulk had seen far more formidable fighters in the River Kingdoms alone. Why would he have caught the interest of an Eldest?

It was frustrating, not having the answers at hand or trustworthy advisors by his side. His expertise was in magic and the arcane, not in the dealings of deities and demigods. Jhod and Tristian had been the ones who had ultimately discerned the true meaning and origins of the Ancient Curse, after all. Without his companions, he was so irritatingly lost.

"Will you be alright?" the man from earlier asked worriedly. The practically tangible emotion that the villager had shown must have made him realise just how bad the devastation had been, outside of the city of Melromarc itself.

"We'll rebuild." The villager nodded, although he didn't seem entirely convinced himself. "We have to. It's going to cost us most of our lives' savings, but we owe it to them."

He didn't need to specify who he had been referring to. Rulk had seen his fair share of bodies when he'd fought in the village, having died before any hope of salvation arrived.

Rulk frowned. Could he have done more? If he'd elected to distract and lure the creatures away from the villagers from the start, or if he'd wasted less time standing idly by when he'd first arrived in this world, perhaps a few more lives could have been saved.

"I need to buy supplies." The villager sighed, then nodded to the man he'd been arguing with just moments earlier. "Food, wood, shovels… the rest are still waiting for me."

The man nodded back, sympathy and some hint of guilt clear in his eyes. The villager began to move away from the board. The other people lounging around idly stared at his back for several moments, but then returned to what they had been doing prior to his arrival.

_Ah, divines be damned. _Jaethal would have a fit if she knew what he was about to do, while Octavia and Tristian would no doubt approve.

"Wait," he said, reaching for the man's shoulder after he'd taken a few steps. He paused, looking toward Rulk curiously.

"Take this." From the bag of holding he had by his side - not that the villager would recognise it as such, of course - he withdrew ten gold coins, placing them firmly within his palm. A fairly paltry sum to Rulk, considering that he'd spent well over _three hundred thousand_ gold pieces during the Rushlight Tournament on the Ring of Circumstances that he still wore, safely hidden under the illusion spell acting on his person. From what he'd heard earlier, it should probably help with –

The man blinked. He looked at Rulk. He blinked again.

Then, he staggered backward comically.

He was beginning to see why Nok-Nok so enjoyed his pranks. The man's present imitation of a cross between a goldfish and a Beholder, going by how large his eyes currently were, was definitely amusing.

"This is –" he _squeaked_, staggering backward, and Rulk's entertainment only grew. Nearby, others were beginning to look toward them, and the man quickly recovered his composure.

"I can't possibly –"

"Take it," Rulk interrupted. If he needed gold in the near future, he could hunt down more monsters. Hopefully the dragons of this world would be comparatively weaker to those of Golarion, as it had been for the zombies. Perhaps he could swindle some coin with an application of temporary Transmutation magic; only to those who deserved it, of course.

"But –" the man protested, still breathless.

"Just take it." Rulk nodded. "You need it a lot more than me."

He stared at the coins in his hand disbelievingly. "Are you _sure_?" he whispered. "It's _gold."_

The final word was spoken so softly, as though afraid that others nearby would hear. Rulk sighed, then made to close the man's fingers around the coins, looking at him challengingly. Was this what Tristian had to deal with every time he went around helping those in Tuskdale while Rulk had been out adventuring the Stolen Lands? The man truly had the patience of a Movanic Deva.

The figure of speech still held true, even if he _did_ turn out to be one of Sarenrae's Celestial servants, as Rulk had later come to learn.

"Thank you," the villager's voice cracked. There was a slight glistening of tears on his reddened eyes, and Rulk felt a slight sense of guilt. Some of the devastation had been his fault, whether as a result of spells he'd missed, monsters he'd sent flying into structures or from the flames he had spread around the village to help control the battlefield. Restoring the landscape from Transmutation magics that he'd used such as _Erupting Earth_ couldn't be an easy task either.

In a roundabout way, he was making fair compensation for his mistakes. Jaethal couldn't fault him for that, right?

He would convince himself of that, anyway.

It was probably why Jubilost had always been the one in charge of managing the kingdom's finances in his position as court treasurer. Were the treasury's coffers left to Rulk's own devices, no doubt his kingdom would have fallen far before the Lantern King's assault.

"We will not forget this," the villager promised. "Please, come to the village! The others will want to thank you as well!"

Rulk waved him off, beginning to walk away now that the villager had _finally_ accepted his gift. With how long he'd taken getting into the city, looking around the market and then the commotion at the bounty board, he would soon need to renew the spells he'd casted on his person. "Think nothing of it."

"Wait!" he heard the villager cry out from behind after he'd barely taken a few steps. "What is your name?"

No harm in telling him, he supposed. If nothing else, if ever he managed to convince the authorities that he was no threat and could finally reveal his true form free of Illusion and Transmutation magics, it would be entertaining to see how the villager would react.

"Rulk," he said lazily, not even looking back. "My name is Rulk."

-o-o-o-

Seeing how grateful the man had been over a few gold pieces certainly put things into perspective. He'd been dealing with one threat to his kingdom after another for the past several years, from rampaging trolls, Fey portals, and haunted lakes, to an ancient Cyclopian lich who seized all the denizens of Varnhold as thralls, marauding barbarians pillaging the River Kingdoms, a rival king hellbent in destroying his kingdom, and a demigod of incomprehensible power dragging his kingdom to the First World.

Needless to say, he'd hardly had the time to interact with the commoners of his kingdom. The financial decisions he'd made were in the range of tens of thousands of gold pieces, whether they were over enchanted equipment or highly elaborate mage towers and aviaries constructed for the inevitable assault from the First World. It made him think back to simpler times when he'd first started off as an adventurer, gathered in Jamandi Aldori's estate alongside his future companions.

Come to think of it, he was in a similar position now as he was back then, with no responsibilities or burdens placed unto him. The Waves of Calamity were the main topic that had caught his interest, due to their similarity to the Ancient Curse and the Lantern King himself having referenced them.

It was why, now, after reapplying the _Alter Self _and _Disguise Self _spells, he had entered a bookshop and bought a fair number of books on the topics of the Waves, the Legendary Heroes, and a single primer on the major powers of this world. They were fairly cheap, too, having been able to purchase all of them for just two gold pieces. He'd only taken a quick skim through the books, since he planned to simply memorise and make use of _Scholar's Touch_ the next day to instantly absorb their knowledge as though having read them thoroughly, but he'd already learned a fair amount of information.

The Waves were a phenomenon since time immemorial, with each successive wave within every cycle bringing more dangerous monsters than the last. The current cycle, hypothesised to be the final one, was believed to lead to the end of the world if not successfully repelled. There were definitely analogous similarities to the Ancient Curse in that regard.

What was different, though, was the existence of the Legendary Heroes. The different major powers of the world had summoned legendary heroes from other worlds since ages past, relying on the combined strength of them and their weapons to repel the Waves. It explained why the Shield Hero could have known of Rulk's race, then.

Again, however, his pursuit of knowledge only gave yielded more questions. Was the orb in his hand, too, a legendary weapon? The abilities it demonstrated thus far loosely fit the vague descriptions that the book held, but there was no way to be sure.

Would that mean that he was _also_ one of these Heroes? The Lantern King had called him as such, in his parting comment, but it just didn't make _sense_. It simply didn't fit with any of the other nonsense that he'd said following their battle. He doubted the Lantern King would much care about this world. There also hadn't been any mention of other Legendary Heroes beyond the four, only Vassal Heroes who were already natives to this world.

Besides, if he _were _a Hero, this world would probably be doomed. As things were, he'd already failed to save his own kingdom.

He needed plans for the future. While he did plan to combat the Waves where he could, they were episodic, and he would need other activities to fill his time between them. Tackling the issue of slavery was something he was keen on, having sat in on the many planning sessions that Octavia and Regongar has dragged him into on how they would spark a slave uprising in Numeria, but something like that sounded like it was still far out of his present ability to influence.

Perhaps he could see if he could learn some of the local magic, seeing as there were spells from the day before that he didn't recognise. Listening in on rumours and gossip at the local tavern, as adventurers were wont to do, could also point him in some direction.

With that plan in mind, he began heading toward one of the shops that had caught his interest when he had previously passed by. With the many tomes and scrolls placed behind its glass display alongside numerous magical foci and reagents, it looked entirely like the shops and bazaars that dabbled in magical goods in Golarion.

"Welcome!" a feminine voice greeted him as he entered. She seemed fairly elderly, though her hair was still a rich brown and there was yet a spring in her step as she restocked the many shelves inside. The shop owner was likely a witch, based on the long, pointy hat with a wide brim that she wore. It seemed some aspects of magic were common to different cultures, even if Rulk thought that that the favoured headpiece of Pitaxian mages wasn't entirely practical for combat.

He nodded in return, giving a cursory glance around the interior of the store as he did so. Potions were stacked on shelves, held in containers of all shapes, sizes and colours. He'd seen his fair share of alchemical potions and elixirs while traveling with Jubilost, picking up a not insignificant amount of information of the craft from the alchemist in the process. Still, even he couldn't recognise the effects that some of them might hold.

A crystal ball was on proud display on her desk, placed atop a lush red cushion. A Diviner, then?

That didn't bode well. Experts in that School of Magic could see beneath the surface, peering through the veil of magic itself. Was she capable of seeing through his disguise?

If she noticed the Transmutation and Illusion spells currently obscuring his true form, she made no reaction that Rulk could discern. He doubted a Diviner possessing such an instinctual grasp over the field would settle for running a humble shop within the city. He was _probably_ just being overly paranoid.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" the woman asked curiously.

No time to second-guess himself anymore. "I was hoping to learn some spells, if possible."

"Oh? A mage, are you?" she tilted her head, appraising him carefully. He was, in fact, a _wizard_, thank you very much, but perhaps this world had no such distinction between the terms. "What magical affinity do you have?"

"Magical affinity?" he asked for clarification. Was she referring to the school of magic he specialised in?

"New to magic?" She raised an eyebrow, stepping to the front of the table, then gestured to the crystal ball on the desk. "Magical affinity determines the types of spells you can cast. Come, sit, sit. Let's find out together."

_The types of spells?_ He heard of some wizards who focused so heavily in one school of magic that they were effectively forbidden from those of opposite branches, but most wizards these days tended to be universalists. Was she referring to the divide between arcane spells utilised by Wizards, Bards, Warlocks and Sorcerers, from divine spells, such as those utilised by Clerics, Druids and Rangers?

He knew what his affinity was, in that case, but he wouldn't decline an opportunity to witness this world's magic first-hand. As far as he knew, there wasn't a divination spell that could achieve the same effect in Golarion. Perhaps he could stand to learn something new.

She gave him a homely smile, moving to the opposite end of the table when Rulk did as he was told. "This lets me measure magical affinity," she explained. "Sit on the chair, please."

He watched, intrigued, as she placed her hands on the orb, looking intently into it. He sat there for several moments, waiting for her to begin casting.

It was only after a few seconds, seeing the look of concentration on her face, that he realised that the magic she used had _no verbal components_.

His eyes widened. It went against everything that he'd been taught about magic, and it made him simultaneously excited and shocked.

Every wizard learns in his first forays into magic that spells consisted of three components: Verbal, Somatic and Material. '_The voice moves the Weave's loom, the hands shape the threads, and reagents furnish the spell,' _an ancient wizard had once said. While woefully insufficient to describe the true complexity of spellcasting, it captured the three basic building blocks of some spells lacked somatic and material components, interaction with the Weave through the very resonance of one's voice itself was a necessity. It was why _Silence_ was so effective against wizards.

Just how _different_ was this world's understanding of magic?!

He was about to (calmly, of course) enquire deeper into the local methods of casting, when he caught sight of the witch's flabbergasted expression, having made no attempt to hide her incredulity.

"H- how is this possible?" she gasped.

"Is there an issue?" He asked as calm as he could. Had she seen past his disguise? What was the best way out of this situation? Should he incapacitate her or –

"You have too many affinities! Fire, Wind, Earth, Support, Light, Dark and more! I've never seen someone like you before!"

Ah. He hadn't been found out, then. Was that unusual? A First Level Wizard knew cantrips that could cover the whole range of elemental types.

It was almost funny, how each of them were thinking that seemingly mundane aspects of their magical systems were so mindbogglingly impossible.

"It's impossible! With the size of your mana pool, you shouldn't have these affinities!" She was raising her hands in frustration. "How?"

'_Mana'?_ That concept was unfamiliar.

"Mana pool?"

"You don't even _know_ what mana is?!" She clutched a hand over her chest, shocked. She had to take several deep breaths, looking at him accusingly as though he was purposely making a fool of her. He must have made his genuine confusion over the matter known, because she began to explain. "Mana is the energy within all life that is used to cast spells. Each of us have different amounts of mana. Don't you know your own MP?"

Wait. MP? Wasn't that one of those strange texts that may as well have been hieroglyphics dotted around his vision?

"It's… fifteen?" he asked more than he told, lost.

"What level are you?" she continued impatiently.

"Eightee –" he respond absentmindedly, catching himself mid-speech. _Right. Not his wizard level. _"Ten."

"Only level ten?" He didn't know whether he should feel offended. She shook her head in disbelief, grumbling under her breath. "Well, I suppose you're lucky. You can learn to cast just about any spell from a grimoire."

"How _do_ you cast spells, exactly?" he asked, betraying none of his excitement. He felt like a novice once more, begging his instructors for yet another showing of _Polymorph._ Given the magnitude of the discovery of this world's magic, he doubted any like-minded wizard could fault him. This was _groundbreaking. _

She shrugged, then began her demonstration, holding her palm upward. "As the source of all power, I order thee." A verbal component to the spell? "Decipher the laws of nature and shine with radiance! _First Light!_"

With that, a bright flash of light burst from her fingers. As far as spells went, it wasn't too impressive. First Level wizards could easily replicate the feat with _Light, Dancing Lights_ or _Colour Spray._ No, what went completely against accepted doctrine of the laws of magic was how the spell had actually been _cast_.

As far as he could tell, she had interacted with the Weave in a completely different manner. The incantation was long and verbose, but bizarrely it wasn't through the reverberations of her voice that the font of all magic had been accessed. In fact, the verbal component may as well have been supplementary. He doubted that the unwieldy incantation was truly necessary.

Her spellcasting was more similar to how he'd seen monks of Golarion utilise the primal essence of the Weave. They harnessed a form of power within their bodies and souls, the combination of both the physical and mystical, which they understood as a concept they called _Ki_. Through it, he'd seen monks perform supernatural feats of physicality, with practitioners of the _Way of the Sun Soul_ even hurling bolts of searing radiance.

For an arcane spellcaster to utilise magic in this way was a foreign concept in Golarion. His hungry anticipation grew. If the monks of Golarion could do it, would it not be possible for him to learn to utilise this '_mana'_ as well, seeing how developed this world's understanding of magic was?

"Have you never _seen_ spells before?" the witch interrupted his thoughts, an expression of amusement on her face, probably since he stopped bothering with attempting to hide his excitement. "Well, take your pick, I suppose. Each grimoire costs 250 silvers."

_That_ statement promptly sent him into a coughing fit.

_Two hundred and fifty _silver pieces_? _In Golarion, attempting to learn a single low-tier spell could easily cost several _hundred_ gold coins for a single scroll, up to tens of thousands for high level spells. That was _before_ considering the costs required for parchment and inks required to scribe the spell sigils and formulas into a wizard's spellbook. And here, they were practically giving away entire spellbooks, the most prized possession of every wizard. _For free._

"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned. "I know it's pricey, but –"

"I'll take them," he said, his voice still raspy. Quickly, he eyed the small stack of four books on the table. Again, he took a handful of coins from his pouch, but this time for a far more worthwhile venture than his earlier withdrawal. "As many as you've got."

As it had been with the villager earlier, she stared at the coins with disbelief, then narrowed her eyes. Wordlessly, she went to fetch a magnifying glass of some sort, carefully scrutinising them. An artificer, as well?

"It's real," she breathed, barely audible, once she had finally inspected and _re-_inspected the currency. Then, a wide smile slowly began to grow on her face, pushing the books toward him while pocketing the coins. "Those four are all I have in stock at the moment, I'm afraid. _Do_ come back if you need any more magical supplies, sir…"

She looked toward him quizzically. "Rulk," he told her.

She nodded, still beaming. "Read those books every night, and you'll master those spells in no time. I'm expecting great things from you."

She didn't need to tell him that, considering that he was already planning to dive into those texts as soon as he got out of the city. He foresaw many casts of _Scholar's Touch_ in the near future, seeing as the spell only allowed the understanding equal to a fairly thorough read, but not complete memorisation. He bowed toward her, grinning just as widely, and began to exit the shop.

Ten coins, for an amount of knowledge that any wizard in Golarion would be willing to kill for. And to think that Jubilost had thought him incapable of making sound financial decisions. Hah!

Once he'd safely kept the precious tomes in his bag of holding – safely out of sight from others, of course – he began looking around the market square once more. There was something he'd thought of the night before that he'd been meaning to look into. Without companions who could keep monsters at bay while he provided support from afar, whether through devastating Evocation magics or empowering spells such as _Haste _or _Bull's Strength_, he was currently being forced to work independently during fights.

There was one spell inscribed in his spellbook that had previously never seemed useful enough to be part of his regular repertoire. _Tenser's Transformation_ was a Sixth Level Transmutation spell that granted extraordinary strength and skill equivalent to the strongest of fighters, endowing the caster with endurance and martial prowess.

Upon using the spell, one's vitality would be greatly boosted, and the caster could wield _any_ weapon conceivable with the proficiency of a master of the art for the spell's (albeit short) duration. It seemed silly using it before, since he was best placed casting spells from afar, but now it sounded like a reasonable idea for scenarios where he might be caught in close combat.

To do that, though, he would need to purchase a weapon. A basic one would do, since it was unlikely to see much use beyond a last-ditch effort if all else failed. A simple shop nearby, 'Erhard's Armoury', seemed like it would suit his purposes.

When he opened the door, he came face to face with a familiar sight. Just his luck. The Shield Hero and his companion were in the middle of a lively conversation with the blacksmith, and he'd come in at just the right time to catch the tail-end of their conversation.

"… we'll pay him a visit after this, since Raphtalia wants her slave crest restored."

The creaking of the door drew their attention, abruptly putting a halt to their discussion. The Shield Hero started for only a moment at his entry, before eyeing him with suspicion.

So, the rumour was true, then. The demi-human (Raphtalia?) was his slave… and for some reason wanted to be bound to him once more?

Well, it wasn't his business to intervene, he supposed. Perhaps he should investigate the local practices of slavery further before equating them to how the Technic League had treated their slaves.

"See you around, old man." Naofumi stood abruptly, walking out of the store stiffly. Raphtalia quickly followed after him, looking at the disguised Rulk with distrust.

It seemed that they didn't particularly trust strangers, but given what little Rulk had been able to piece together during his short time in the city he couldn't blame them. Other than the villager he'd come across earlier and a few others who happened to have relations with the village, just about everything he heard about the Shield Hero has been overwhelmingly negative.

"Can I help you?" the blacksmith asked, his tone polite but his gaze carefully measuring Rulk's form. He was either just as distrusting as the Shield Hero, or had a great deal of experience on the battlefield. He'd certainly seen Amiri and Valerie appraise fighters in a similar manner.

"I was hoping to purchase some weapons," Rulk told him. "Shortswords or daggers, perhaps."

Just because the spell allowed supernatural proficiency with a weapon didn't mean he had to go for something exotic like a kukri or dueling sword. Simple weapons could prove useful, if Mystryl forbid he ever found himself in a situation where he didn't have access to _any_ spells in the future.

The shopkeeper grunted, opening one of the many drawers behind the counter. He placed two small boxes on the table, opening them to reveal several blades of various sizes. Rulk was no expert, but for unenchanted blades they seemed to be of fairly decent quality.

"May I?" he asked. The shopkeeper (Erhard, probably, given the shop's name) nodded, and Rulk made to grab the hilt of a small dagger, planning to inspect the blade closer.

That, of course, was when all his plans went to shite.

-o-o-o-

He didn't mean to brag, but prior to settling down as a blacksmith, Erhard had been a great adventurer. He'd fought bandits, travelled the kingdoms, and put down a fair share of monsters with his own hands. Long story short, he'd _seen_ things.

It was why he had a nagging feeling about the man who had entered his store. At first glance, he seemed entirely unexceptional. He was thin, but not frail, of an utterly average height and with unremarkable facial features.

Erhard had seen how the man's eyes moved when he entered, though. He'd checked the corners first, almost instinctively, and he wondered if the man even realised he had done so. Then he'd quickly evaluated the boy and the girl, and then Erhard himself, before looking at the many items on display. His eyes fell on the items in decreasing order of quality, looking at the masterwork scimitar he'd purposely kept in the corner of the shop rather than the bright, shiny suit of armour on proud display that he'd kept as a distraction for would-be burglars.

When the stranger finally looked back at the kid, Erhard swore that unlike the derision that the Shield Hero had to contend with every day, there was only a sense of indifference.

This was no ordinary person. He'd clearly been in his own fair share of scraps and ambushes.

Why, then, did he look so utterly mundane?

He didn't seem to exude any malice, but Erhard made sure to keep an eye on him as he fulfilled his request. Daggers and shortswords weren't the most elaborate of weapons, but he knew better than most how the simplest of weapons could be the most deadly.

"May I?" the customer asked politely. Gods above, even his _voice_ sounded utterly average. Erhard nodded, seeing no reason to decline. The man reached out to touch the blade.

Then there was a spark of radiant light, and the weapon was released from his grasp amidst bright yellow sparks. Wait, hadn't that –

Erhard turned rapidly toward the customer, only now he was most _definitely_ not average. On instinct, he'd made to grab the hammer he always kept hidden underneath his shop counter, before slowly releasing it once his mind caught on to the sight before him.

He'd seen his face several times already today. Hell, the kid had told Erhard about him just moments earlier.

_Orc_, the kid had called him.

"By the Abyssal Plane!" the orc was swiping at the air, muttering to himself. "Breach of Agreement…?"

Hadn't the kid said that he couldn't understand the orc? Why was he able to speak perfectly now?

"You're that orc…" the words left his lips automatically, while his mind was thinking of more pressing matters. The orc appeared startled, as though he hadn't remembered Erhard's presence.

More importantly, didn't the kid have the same issue when he tried picking up a weapon? But that would mean that –

"Oh, divines above," the orc groaned. "Of _course_ concentration spells break at the worst times."

_Concentration spells_? What was he talking about?

Erhard backed up, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. The kid had said that the orc had protected them during the battle in the village, even saving some of the villagers' lives. Surely he didn't mean him any harm?

That was, of course, before the knights had chosen to brand him as a monster with a fairly large bounty on his head. The kid had said that the orcs he knew of from his world were all hostile to humans. Hopefully that wasn't the case.

"Look, I don't mean any trouble," he spoke slowly. The kid said that the orc didn't understand their language, but now the orc was carefully evaluating him. "The Shield kid said you helped out in the village. I know the stuff that the knights've been saying are all crap."

The orc blinked, then shrugged. "Huh. Nice of him."

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Erhard coughed. "So… what now?"

"I guess I won't be getting those weapons, then." He seemed to ponder on something for awhile, then sighed. "Might as well not waste this opportunity."

With that, he began an incantation of some sort, his words clearly enunciated, but with meaning that was lost to Erhard. This must have been what the kid meant, then. The power in his words was practically palpable, and he'd never seen magic like that before.

With a final bright flash of light, the orc shook his head slightly. "What was that?" he asked curiously. As far as he could tell, he didn't mean Erhard any harm.

He looked at Erhard for a few seconds, then shrugged once more. "Eh, no harm telling you, I suppose. I tracked the Shield Hero's position."

"You can do that?" He raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard of a spell like that before. Talking to this orc was simultaneously completely natural, and yet an almost otherworldly unfamiliar experience. He was being strangely candid, for someone in a city with an active bounty placed on him.

"_Locate Creature _works, as long as he's within a thousand feet. I'm going to pay his slave trader a visit later." He stretched a little, then looked at Erhard. "Sorry, by the way."

"What for?" he asked in slight alarm. Had he misjudged –

"_Reficio."_

Erhard recognised the magic at work too late. In an instant, his vision blurred, and his mind became strangely blank.

Where was he? Who had he been talking to?

"You remember the Shield Hero leaving your store after another customer came in," an unfamiliar voice told him. "When you two were alone, he said several unflattering things about Naofumi. You demanded that he leave, and during your argument one of the weapons that he had been planning to buy was thrown across the room and broken. He left compensation of a gold coin for the dagger, but left immediately after. You will find the coin in your left pocket. After one minute, you will recover, and forget ever having met me or listening to my voice. Beyond that, nothing of note happened in the previous five minutes."

It made sense. He _did_ meet that rude man who had claimed the kid had bought the girl for his own carnal desires. He _had _refused to sell any equipment to someone who couldn't recognise the kid for the Hero that he was. The man had been strangely polite despite that, and left a more than fair amount of money for the trouble he had caused.

Strange… what had happened?

He looked up. The shop was empty, his table in a slight mess. The man had already left.

He shrugged. A gold coin was a gold coin, he supposed.

-o-o-o-

That had been _far_ too close. It was only by a stroke of luck that he had prepared _Modify Memory_ the night before, using it to remove any knowledge of his visiting the blacksmith's store. In the minute between the man's recovery, he had hastily reapplied _Alter Self_, slipped a coin into his pocket and left the room before he could return to his senses.

How was he to know that the orb hidden away under his illusion spell would have prevented him from so much as holding a fork so long as he planned to stab someone with it?

The Lantern King must be getting so much of his precious _entertainment_, in whichever demiplane he was watching this so-called play from.

Casting _Locate Creature _had been a spur of the moment decision, since using the spell required his utmost concentration and would necessitate releasing the Transmutation magic he used to disguise himself. With his disguise already broken, there wasn't much sense delaying its casting. He had pinpointed the Shield Hero's position at just several hundred metres away, precisely thirty-three degrees to the northeast. Since he had been stationary for the brief duration where he continued the maintenance of the spell, he assumed that he was in a meeting with the slave trader.

He waited for another fifteen minutes along the city streets, refreshing the _Comprehend Languages _and _Tongues_ spell when they were about to expire. It was probably long enough for the Shield Hero to have concluded his business with the slave trader, whatever it was.

With that, he skulked off to a nearby alley, gave a quick look around to ensure that no one was watching, and casted _Invisibility _on himself. As a concentration spell, he again had to release _Alter Self _in order to maintain the veil of magic that obscured his form. Thankfully, this was to be his last course of action for the day.

Finding the slave trader's location was easy enough. There was a large, white tent situated in the middle of the street. As it turned out, with slavery being legal in the kingdom, there wasn't exactly much incentive to hide his activities, unlike the pains he had to deal with when tracking down the Technic League members who had ran away after their failed ambush years ago.

From the outside, it looked entirely unassuming. Once inside, though, he was greeted with an altogether different sight.

Eyes that gleamed an eerie red peered through the darkness at his invisible form. There were creatures of all sorts, locked in cages that were far too small for their occupants. Some of them must have possessed some form of _True Seeing_ or extraordinary senses, because they began to stir and track his movements as he inched slowly across the tent's interior, keeping an eye out for the slave trader.

The low growls from nearby cages again caused him to question his prior assumptions. Unlike the slave trade in Numeria, which focused on the subjugation of the so-called _lesser_ intelligent races, possessing language and heritage, the creatures he saw now were almost akin to monsters. There were avian creatures that looked almost like a cross between wyverns and griffons, and a single large beast within the largest cage in the very centre that reminded Rulk of the fearsome Werewolves he had fought while exploring the Stolen Lands. Was this their normal savagery, or had their time in captivity altered their mental state?

Rulk didn't know exactly how these beastmen had managed to become enslaved. Perhaps some form of Enchantment magic that bound their will to their masters, or a branch of Conjuration magic similar to those he was capable of employing, subverting a creature's free will following their conjuration from whichever plane they dwelled in. Then again, there could also be far simpler explanations; he had after all personally seen how Bartholomew Delgado had kept a troll captive for his experiments to the point where it had begged for the release of death.

As far as he could tell, though, aside from the almost-primal creatures, there weren't any other demi-humans in the remaining cages. That was good. Octavia's influence on him would no doubt demand that he free them all, his present circumstances be damned. As it was, he highly doubted she would be willing to stand idly by while they remained in their cages.

An issue to tackle for another time. There was just one more matter that he wanted to address.

The Shield Hero had undeniably purchased his companion from this trader, as amiable as their relationship currently was. That meant that he had contacts and sources for his slaves.

In their discussions of their future plans to free the slaves of Numeria once their business in the River Kingdoms was concluded, his companions had always mentioned the need to address the issue at its very source. Slave traders were easily replaceable, but _slavers_ were not. In their time in the Technic League, they had learned that the critical feature that determined the success of the dreadful trade was _logistics_.

As with every other commodity, every trade had to be meticulously recorded. The number of slaves, the provisions needed for their journey, even information such as their race, gender and abilities had been dutifully noted by the Technic League. With the sheer bulk of cages Rulk saw before him, no doubt whoever was in charge of this business had to have some means of organisation.

Creeping deeper into the tent, he found a desk, a bunch of papers scattered around it. There was no sign of the trader himself. Probably off on other business he had to handle, Rulk assumed.

Carefully, he sifted through the pieces of parchment, careful to replace them back to their original positions. As far as information went, their contents were fairly mundane. A daily tally of business transactions, a to-do list for the day, and supplies he needed to purchase.

Then, he noticed a drawer just to the side of the room. With the _three_ keyholes located on its external surface, it probably contained whatever he was looking for.

As expected, an attempt to open it revealed that it was locked. That was troublesome.

Unlocking it would be easy, of course. The issue lay in the fact that the slave trader would be alerted to the fact that someone accessed his private documents. If such information reached the slavers themselves, investigating their dealings in the future and intervening if necessary would be much harder, since they would no doubt increase their vigilance for disruptions in their supply chain.

Then again, he doubted that such incompetence would be looked upon favourably by the slavers. If his companions' knowledge of the trade was accurate, such information would probably be kept under wraps by the slave trader.

With that, he made his decision. The invisibility spell faded, as he reached outward toward the locked drawer, feeling at the locking mechanism through the threads of the Weave, a magical sigil appearing at his fingertips. Moments later, he completed the spell.

The verbal component of the spell was masked by the thundering _Knock_ that gave the Transmutation spell its name, echoing around the tent. As one, the many caged creatures began howling, and Rulk only had scant moments to act. Reapplying _Invisibility_ while ruffling through the contents within, he began to search for what he was looking for.

_Bingo_. In his hands he held a ledger, rapidly scanning through it before others came to investigate the commotion. _Transfers of beastmen from the Zeltoble Coliseum. A rabbit demi-human with a motor disorder in his hands purchased from the Zeltoble mercenary bands, recently sold for fifty silver pieces. A Tanuki bought from a Melromarc nobleman's estate. _The list continued on.

He frowned as he read the meticulously-recorded description of the slaves' injuries at the time of purchase. Many Beastmen were purchased from the Coliseum after having lost their battles and were deemed unfit for the arena. The Zeltoble mercenary groups tended to see view demi-humans as a commodity, trading them for profit but otherwise at least seeing to their needs. But the nobleman…

Torture? Forced starvation? Signs of prolonged abuse?

He placed the ledger back in the drawer, purposely messing up its contents. No sense in letting the slave trader know just what information he'd obtained, after all. Quickly, he left the tent before the ruckus he'd caused drew any more attention.

He didn't know who this '_Idol Rabier'_ was, but he sure as all the Nine Hells was going to look into the matter. Even Octavia and Regongar hadn't been subject to that kind of treatment. And if his investigation yielded anything he didn't like, well…

Let's just say that his companions had _many_ ideas about what they would do to the slavers of Numeria. Some of their influence may have rubbed off on him.

-o-o-o-

_Journal Entry #2_

_Entered the city today. Too much information to write about in one sitting. Long story short: bought some books, learned some information and investigated the local slave trade._

_While many aspects of this world are similar to Golarion, the state of politics here troubles me. I certainly am no expert in the field, relying more on Linzi and Valerie for their advise in my dealings with the other River Kingdoms, but I doubt it would be incorrect to say that the kingdoms are highly averse in their dealings with each other. The book itself barely makes any mention of Siltvelt and Shieldfreeden beyond the fact that they were, I quote, 'a collection of filthy demi-humans'._

_I suspect that the Waves of Calamity may themselves be the single factor keeping a tenuous peace between the kingdoms. From my experience, the invasion of Brevoy by Armag's unified barbarian hordes had somehow seen to a fragile alliance between the Surtova and Aldori factions, despite their decades of squabbling over rightful rulership of Brevoy. _

_Still, the state of affairs does not sit right with me. Slavery is accepted in all the kingdoms, with the only difference being which race is subject to servitude. Demi-human or human supremacy is practiced throughout this land. Frankly speaking, it both disgusts and perplexes me. With only two major races, compared to the uncountable number in Golarion (even before accounting for half-breeds such as myself), how can they possibly still believe in any of this nonsense?_

_Speaking of demi-humans: as it turns out, some of my earlier preconceptions were mistaken. While heavily biased against demi-humans, the books I had purchased earlier today described that demi-humans encompassed the entire spectrum of humanoid beings with bestial features, including the 'beastmen' I encountered in the cages earlier._

_That is worrying. Were they all intelligent, then, despite how primal and savage they seemed? Part of me wants to return to the city and free them from their captivity. But what then could I do?_

'_Start a revolution!' Octavia would no doubt encourage. 'Think before you act, for once, please?' I can already hear Jubilost's exasperation. Nok-Nok would probably shrug and ask if there would be any stabbing._

…_only a day, and I already miss my friends so._

_Back on topic: While freeing them from their cages would be easy with the spells I have at my disposal, escaping would already be a difficult task on its own, without any knowledge of their abilities or indeed whether they would seek to align themselves with me after their time in captivity. Without any further knowledge of this land, ensuring their survival and freedom would be a nigh impossible task. As much as I loathe this decision, I cannot yet free them from their shackles._

_Instead, I believe I should look into the dealings of this Idol Rabier. Even if I am no longer a baron or king, I cannot allow such senseless depravity to fester. Besides, I owe it to Octavia and Regongar. I will decide on how I deal with the matter when the time comes. While he cannot go unpunished, my continued ignorance of this world's ways demands a certain level of subtlety._

_If the information in my books is accurate, his estate is located just more than a week's journey to the north of Melromarc on foot, and much shorter yet with a spell such as Phantom Steed. I have made sure to place a pebble from the forest I rested in on my first day in this world into my bag of holding, such that it may act as an anchor for a teleport spell should I need to return to the vicinity of the city. The journey ahead should provide sufficient time for me to read the books I have purchased, and begin to work through the spells contained within the grimoires._

_Already, I have attempted to cast the most basic of magics from the book: 'First Light', the locals termed it, causing an effect intermediate between the Light and Colour Spray spells. While I have yet to master it completely, I have definitely begun to feel the differences in the way that the magics of this land access the power of the Weave. I do not know if this 'mana' is truly the same as what monks termed 'Ki', but comparing it to the conventional methods of Golarion spellcasting is almost like writing with a different hand; familiar and yet entirely foreign._

_Still, my 'MP', whatever that was supposed to be, had been drained from the exercise, which probably means that I am making good progress. It is my hope that I will soon be able to substitute some of the more basic spells of my repertoire with this form of magic to further broaden the spells I can cast in a day. Between this and the strange power granted by the orb, spontaneous casting of spells for basic purposes may soon become feasible._

_Time will tell, I suppose._

_Rulk _

-o-o-o-

The current state of her kingdom was troubling. Siltvelt was threatening to wage war with them if the present course of events continued, Shieldfreeden was on the verge of joining the other demi-human nation, and tensions with Faubrey were still growing by the day. All of her present troubles could be placed firmly in the hands of one individual – her husband, King Aultcray Melromarc XXXII.

_Why_ had he even thought it a good idea to summon the Legendary Heroes at this time, never mind all _four, _after she had already agreed with the other kingdoms that they would each summon one of them in turn?

That would still have been salvageable. He had then unjustly treated the Shield Hero and refused to allow the envoys of the other kingdoms to meet the heroes, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of the worst diplomatic fallout Melromarc had seen in recent history.

Footsteps from outside the screen-door informed her of her subordinate's arrival. She didn't need to look back to know that the Shadow was silently kneeling before the door, having been used to the practice since even before she ascended to become Queen of Melromarc.

_Please, let this be good news, for once._

"You have returned," Mirellia Q Melromarc stated, still looking out of the window. It had been a day since the Wave of Calamity had been repelled. While still only the second Wave, the fact that they'd hoarded all the four heroes to fend it off would no doubt further sour relations with the other kingdoms. "Your report, please."

"The Sword, Bow and Spear Heroes cooperated to defeat the boss monster of the wave with the help of their party members," she spoke succinctly. "The Shield Hero successfully defended the Village of Lute with minimal casualties."

That was good. Perhaps that could help remedy the Shield Hero's image in the eyes of Melromarc's people, which may ease tensions with Siltvelt and Shieldfreeden.

"The King held a royal celebration in the castle. The Spear Hero challenged the Shield Hero to a duel over his demi-human slave, and was forced to accept by order of the King. Malty-sama intervened in the duel, resulting in the Shield Hero's loss."

That put an abrupt end to her good mood. Why did her idiot husband and daughter have to mess things up at every turn?!

The Shadow continued speaking. "Ultimately, ownership of the slave was returned to the Shield Hero, and the slave crest was reinstated at her request."

At least the situation was slightly improved, although now the Shield Hero had even less of a reason to trust her and the people of Melromarc. If Siltvelt and Shieldfreeden were to hear of the events in the castle, they would no doubt be up in arms. This had to be resolved delicately, and quickly. As things currently were, though, she couldn't freely move across the kingdom, having to deal with meetings with diplomats and resolve tensions away from the capital.

Melty would be able to help her in her stead. Unlike her other daughter, she at least had some modicum of sense.

She was about to send for a servant to call for her daughter, but the Shadow hadn't moved. Strange.

"Is there more to your report?"

"Yes, my Queen. The Shield Hero was not alone in the defense of the Village of Lute. Villagers have reported being saved by a creature that the Shield Hero called an 'orc'."

"An orc?" The term was unfamiliar to her. "Explain."

"The villagers have described him as masculine in appearance, with a build similar to humans. He was initially mistaken for a monster, given his grey skin, sharp canines and generally fierce appearance. While he was capable of speech, both the villagers and Shield Hero were unable to understand his words," she said in a completely neutral tone.

"He was first spotted at the east end of the village, where he saved a mother and child. From there, he continued toward the centre of the village, eventually meeting the Shield Hero. Together with a band of villagers, they proceeded to defend against the monsters of the Wave in the village square."

A monster, fighting against other monsters? That was unheard of.

"He did not harm the villagers at all?"

"No, my Queen. In fact, he protected them with an unknown shielding magic when the King's knights released a Firestorm spell on the village. When confronted by the knights, he again used a spell that villagers were unable to identify to incapacitate them. He was then reported to teleport onto a nearby rooftop and disappear from sight. A bounty of five hundred silver coins has been placed on his head."

There was so much to dissect in that statement. She knew first-hand how potent the Firestorm spell was, which suggested that this 'orc' was formidable in his own right. Then, there was the matter of the knights unleashing a spell on _villagers_ and the Shield Hero. On top of that, he was crafty enough to disable and escape from a group of trained knights. She needed to learn more here.

"Tell me more about his capabilities."

"He has been reported to have at least Fire, Earth, Ice and Acid magical affinities, based on the spells he used. My investigation on the damage dealt to the village supports this." Her eyes widened. A powerful mage? "Furthermore, the villagers and Shield Hero have claimed that he was responsible for the destruction of more than half the monsters attacking the village."

There was no doubt about his power, then. His actions thus far indicated that he had peaceful intentions. How had she never heard of him before?

"How does the Shield Hero know of him?"

"He claims that orcs are creatures of fantasy of his world. The other heroes corroborate this. However, they also describe that orcs are invariably depicted as savage beasts hostile to humans."

Mirellia had no idea how the Shadow could have said all that as though merely discussing the weather. A _fantasy creature _from _another world?_ One that arrived during the Wave? Surely it could not be a mere coincidence. What could it mean?

Could he be one of the Heroes? It was an absurd thought, though. There had never been a _fifth_ Legendary Hero, never mind the fact that he was, apparently, a fictional being from an entirely different world.

"Where is he presently located?"

Of all things, _that_ was what the Shadow hesitated to reply to. "We tracked his position to a nearby forest." There was just a slight catch in her voice before she continued. "From there, the trail ends, as though he simply vanished."

She could understand why that may have slightly unnerved the Shadow. They were experts at subterfuge, and Mirellia couldn't think of a single time when they had failed to track down an individual at her request. They earned their name for a reason, after all. To be able to elude a Shadow spoke volumes of this orc's capabilities.

He couldn't be ignored, that was for certain. The question lay in _how_ she should proceed.

If his intentions were peaceful, he would make a valuable ally. And if, heavens forbid, he chose to go against them, he would make a terrible enemy indeed. She dearly hoped that the knights' actions hadn't affected his views toward them.

If he _could_ become an ally though…

She thought rapidly, pondering through the many possibilities this orc held. The Shadow waited patiently outside.

Right. Plans had to change. Melty would still make journey to the capital, and hopefully help resolve matters regarding the Shield Hero's treatment, but this orc…

"Listen closely," Mirellia said, finally turning to face the Shadow. She lifted her head obediently. "I have an important task for you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hard to gauge whether people like this story, but since I haven't had any reviews asking for my head to be lopped off just yet, I guess I'll continue in this direction?**

* * *

_Journal Entry #5 _

_Yes, double entry today. Shocker. Who would have thought that Rulk Wardweaver could be capable of organisation? _

_Today marks the third day of my journey to the northern portion of Melromarc. I have undertaken the ritualistic casting of Phantom Steed to help with my travels, since doing so would lighten the mental burden of having to memorise and hold the spell matrix in mind for the day. While not the fastest mode of transport, it nonetheless beats traveling on foot. If ever I come to rule a part of this land, my first order of business will definitely be the construction of mage towers and dedicated teleportation circles._

_Ah, how my time as baron of the Stolen Lands has spoiled me. _

_My practice with the new arcane focus has yielded more results. Presently, I have further unlocked the ability to cast spells of up to First Level in the schools of Divination, Conjuration, Illusion and Evocation, in addition to the Transmutation and Abjuration schools that I had already previously obtained. My working hypothesis is that the orb is capable of 'evolving' with the use of magic of specific schools, since I have made great use of spells from these schools since my arrival to this world. It certainly fits the sentient nature of the orb, as previously detailed._

_With this, I am now able to spontaneously cast the Comprehend Languages spell through the orb itself, allowing me to memorise a different First Level spell without overly taxing my mental faculties. While using the spell consumes this 'SP', I have found that its duration is sufficiently long for this resource to replenish itself over time. Rejoice!_

_Today, I plan to continue further north, arriving in the so-called (aptly named) Northern Territory by late afternoon, if the map I am using for reference is accurate. Hopefully, with another few days of travelling, I will find this Idol Rabier and begin to work on changing this world's backward ways regarding slavery._

-o-o-o-

Rulk frowned. In the distance ahead, a small outpost had been set up, manned by a single soldier. A toll gate?

He'd been able to avoid them so far, thanks to the circuitous route that he'd taken. As far as he could tell, though, short of completely abandoning the path and skirting off along the forest to the east or the mountain range to the west, and potentially getting lost in the process, there was otherwise no way to progress through into the Northern Territory.

Mentally, he made sure that his illusory steed would remain corporeal for a sufficiently long duration before moving closer, since it wouldn't do good for it to disappear midway through paying the toll. Casting yet another _Modify Memory _for something so mundane and preventable just wasn't worth it.

_Just short of a half-hour left on the spell. _Nodding to himself, he began steering his horse to approach the gate.

On closer inspection, the guard's equipment clearly left much to be desired. There were dents in the breastplate, and the helmet was of a size too large for the man, hanging loosely and almost obscuring his own sight as he turned to face Rulk. While his sword itself was sheathed, the hilt and guard were heavily weathered and worn.

"Halt!" the guard ordered him, although there was no authority in his tone. "You need to pay the toll in order to pass."

An unseasoned soldier, perhaps? Coupled with how poorly maintained his weapon and armour were, Rulk had the distinct impression that the man was very new to his post.

"How much?" he asked. Thankfully, he had exchanged some of his gold pieces for currency of a lower denomination. As it turned out, the exchange rate worked out to be even more in his favour, seeing as the local silver piece was worth one-hundredth of a gold coin compared to the tenth he was used to in Golarion.

"Twenty silver." Rulk raised an eyebrow. He didn't quite know how much the normal value of a toll was, since he purposely avoided them on his journey, but given what he'd inferred from eavesdropping on conversations in the city that amount was more than what common-folk earned in a week.

This meant that the toll was either raised to be exorbitantly high, or that travel into the Northern Territory was so popular that the region could afford to demand such a high price for entry. From how shoddy the post and the guard's equipment were, he doubted that it was the latter.

"So expensive?" he probed.

"Umm…" The guard shifted guiltily, not looking at him in the eye. _Clearly not accustomed to this job, then_. "Times have been hard recently, and… well…"

Rulk sighed, withdrawing twenty silver from his pouch. The guard looked at him blankly, as though not expecting him to actually comply. When he finally registered the action, his eyes almost lit up, taking the coins quickly and placing them into the satchel by his waist.

"I- I'll open the gate right away!"

Say what you would about Rulk, but he didn't manage to survive and rise to become one of the most renowned wizards and king of the Stolen Lands by luck alone. The satchel had been empty, based on how there hadn't been any sound of the rattling of coins when the guard hastily placed the first of his silver pieces into the bag. There hadn't been many travellers heading north.

Why, though? Based on what he'd learned of the local geography from his books and map, the region was supposed to be fairly satisfactorily able to support a settlement, with at least some natural resources in the nearby forests and vegetation. They should also have more than enough land for agricultural purposes.

The guard had moved aside the wooden beam barring the way through, opening the decrepit-looking fence that separated the Northern Territory from the rest of Melromarc. Rulk didn't bid his mount to step through immediately, instead turning to speak to the guard.

"What did you mean by hard times?"

"W- what?" The guard looked up from where he'd been waiting to replace the beam once Rulk passed, startled. He continued shifting nervously as he spoke. "Well… there's the whole business about the refugees coming from the north… and then there's been many changes with the rebellion from the resistance force, so…"

Refugees? Rebellion?

"Tell me more."

Again, he looked around nervously. It was only after confirming for the fifth time that nobody was in earshot that he began to quietly tell Rulk just what had happened.

"The governor was recently removed from his office, you know?" His voice was just barely louder than a whisper. "N- none of us really liked him. He taxed all the villages in his land heavily and never did anything to help us in return. They say that a band of unknown adventurers broke into his office, rescued a prisoner from him and placed someone from the resistance in charge of the region, but…"

He sighed, removing his helmet. Now that Rulk could see his face clearly, he could easily tell that this was no soldier. "I'm just a villager from nearby, you know? But with the changes, refugees have been coming in from other villages to the north, and the soldiers have been deployed to prevent any fighting." As he spoke, his nerves dissipated, speaking to Rulk more candidly and letting his frustration show. "I'm not even a soldier. I'm just a farmer, but we need to collect the toll from traders to help rebuild, so…"

His voice trailed off, looking at Rulk helplessly. He was no stranger to the struggles that the common-folk faced in the wake of power changing hands, having had to deal with the fallout of his seizing of Pitax from King Irovetti. The issue was whether the current state of events was due to incompetence by the new governors of this land, or a continuation of the corruption by the previous administration.

"Thank you," he told the guard. "I'll see what I can do to help."

"Help?" he repeated. His eyes widened. "Are you an adventurer?"

_Ehh, close enough_. He nodded, smiling at the guard reassuringly in his disguised form. With that, he issued a mental command to his illusory horse, picking up speed as it galloped deeper into the Northern Territory.

-o-o-o-

A short ride later, Rulk began to catch sight of one of the villages under the Northern Territory's jurisdiction. The guard's words hadn't adequately described just how dire the situation currently was. Buildings were in a state of disrepair, with holes in bricks and stone not even patched, their insides fully exposed to the elements. Wooden posts were beginning to rot and become infested by all manner of insects. Dust billowed across the village in waves, chunks of stone and debris littering the streets.

Damage like this couldn't have happened overnight. Clearly, the village had been suffering long before the resistance took over, with the final tumultuous changes being the tipping point for the current destitute faced by the people of the Northern Territory.

Though his _Phantom Steed_ was lighter than a true corporeal horse, the _clip-clop_ of its hooves was nonetheless amplified across the empty streets. Ahead, he heard murmurings as figures began peeking out from behind whatever makeshift cover could be found in the dilapidated village, their voices rising in amplitude as a veritable _crowd_ began approaching toward him.

His horse came to a halt in front of them, as he scanned their faces quickly. Truly, the guard had _heavily_ downplayed the degree of suffering they faced.

He saw people in tattered clothes that revealed signs of starvation faced by the villagers, with some of them almost cachectic. Mothers held crying infants in their arms, dirt and soot mixed in unkempt hair and clothing. They held all manner of objects with them, looking at him with pleading and hopeful eyes.

"Please!" the first of them said weakly as he neared. His legs were so thin, his muscles wasted, that Rulk had no idea how he could manage to walk. "Do you have any food? We'll trade! Please!"

"Please!"

"It's been days since we last ate!"

Other voices echoed the first, each of them carrying an item for trade. He saw figurines, weathered items of craftmanship and everyday utensils. The desperation in their eyes told him that they were probably the last of their household items they could carry with them. Beyond what they could hold in their arms, they didn't seem to have any other possessions. These must be the refugees that the guard was talking about.

Some of their hope began to dim when they saw that Rulk was essentially free of supplies, without even so much as a backpack on him. He'd bought enough supplies for his own travel within his bag of holding, but even that didn't amount to much, seeing as most of his basic needs of sustenance and safety could easily be met with spells and magic.

He could help them. He _should _help them. The despair they felt was almost palpable, but a traitorous part of his mind reminded him that doing so would bring the risk of discovery of his branch of magic that had never before been seen in this land. Keeping a low profile would best maintain his anonymity, but –

_No._ He couldn't be that selfish. He was Rulk Wardweaver, and he had sworn to work for the betterment of his people, even if doing so had sometimes meant going against law and tradition. These may not be his subjects, but they suffered all the same.

Besides, even if he caught the ire of King Melromarc himself, he was pretty sure he could at least evade capture once more, if not outright match him in combat, based on what he had seen of the capability of the local knights and the threat posed by the monsters during the previous Wave of Calamity.

Right. It was decided.

"One moment," he said, dismounting from his horse. He released the illusion that hid the Orb from view, startling some of the refugees and beginning yet another round of murmurs. He thought about the spell he intended to cast, and the Orb transformed into an emerald green, its surface inscribed with a sigil that he knew well.

The spell he had in mind was a Transmutation spell. He had been using it to support himself during his travel, heavily freeing up the limited space in his bag of holding for the many texts and maps he had bought from the city. The Orb flared a bright green, colours dancing as he willed the essence of life around himself to be given form.

A few seconds later, with a single spoken word, the air itself condensed into the form of several roughly spherical objects that he caught readily with his upturned free hand. _Goodberry_, the spell was called. Normally, the First Level spell was restricted to Druids and Rangers, but the many enchantments placed upon the Orb had somehow bypassed that requirement.

The murmuring that had grown with the appearance of swirling magical sigils grew for a moment, but then died down at the pathetic sight in his arms. Ten berries were all that had been created.

He couldn't fault them, of course. If he hadn't been accustomed to the workings of the spell from his time adventuring the Stolen Lands, it hardly seemed enough to feed even a stray animal, never mind starving refugees.

He knew better. Taking a single berry, he gave it to the villager who had initially spoken. "Eat," he said.

The look of disappointment on the man's face remained, but he took the meagre offering nonetheless. He looked somewhat affronted (acceptably so, since a gift of single ordinary berry would be just mocking them for their plight), but didn't say anything else as he took a bite of the berry.

Then, his face changed completely. His pale, gaunt skin turned slightly pink, his body became less shrivelled, his face marked by an expression of shock as he staggered backward. The others closest to the refugee snapped to look toward him.

To most adventurers, the rejuvenation that _Goodberry_ brought was meagre at best, but to starving refugees it was practically a godsend. A single berry provided enough nourishment for a full day.

"What –" the man finally stuttered, trembling as he looked at Rulk, who was now holding out the berries in his hand for others to take. They hesitated, not knowing just what had happened. "How…"

"What did you do to him?!" a child by his side shouted. "If you poisoned my dada, I'll –"

"No!" the refugee spoke hurriedly, gesturing wildly toward his peers. His volume must have been far louder than he expected, a result of the burst of life granted by the Druidic magic, because even he flinched at his own voice. "It's great! It's better than great!"

Though still hesitant, a woman took another berry that Rulk patiently offered in his fingers. A moment after biting into it, she yielded much the same results and reaction as the first man.

"How?" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. "I'm full! I'm so _full_!"

With that joyful declaration, people began to quickly take the berries out of his hand, and if they had any lingering misgivings about his creations it was not reflected in their actions. It was testament to their sense of community that they didn't shove and snatch the gifts from each other, instead prioritising the sick and infirm among them.

Huh. Maybe people in this world could be decent after all.

The words they spoke were lost in the clamouring, but soon enough the ten berries he had created were gone, and there were still many more mouths to feed. "Please," the one who had taken his first berry almost begged. "Do you have more? We are so many, and –"

Another bright flash of light, and ten more berries were created. Wordlessly, he handed them over to the refugee, whose eyes were now shining bright with tears. Quickly, he handed them out to the others. Rulk created ten more, and then again, continuing until he was spent of '_SP'_.

The man was quivering as he approached him once he had stopped his spellcasting. Others had taken to the task of distributing the _Goodberries_. Idly, Rulk gave a quick scan of the crowd. There should have been just enough berries for everyone to eat a single one, with only a few more leftover.

"How?" the man asked, his voice full of gratitude, not at all like the despair it had been moments prior. There were tears in his eyes; out of joy, hopefully, rather than soul-crushing fear of someone who had just wielded hitherto unidentified magic.

"Magic," Rulk told him truthfully. He pointed to the small number of leftover berries, placed reverently in a jar that had been carefully cleaned with what limited resources they had. "You'll want to eat those today, by the way. They disappear in twenty-four hours."

The man's head bobbed up and down quickly, hanging on to his every word. "How can we repay you for your kindness?" he asked, uncertain. Quickly, he turned to look toward the others, who were now beginning to regather before Rulk, after each had consumed a berry of their own. "We'll give you what we have! Anything you want, please –"

Rulk shook his head firmly. "Keep it."

"Are you a mage, sir?" the child who had challenged him before asked, his voice filled with wonder. "Have you come to save us?"

_Save them? _That certainly hadn't been his original intention. Earlier today, he'd meant to simply pass through the Northern Territory, find Idol Rabier and see to the man's punishment himself. Looking at the faces in front of him now, though, he couldn't find it in himself to continue as he'd planned. Creating the _Goodberries_ was only a temporary stop-gap solution, since he couldn't continually remain nearby to supply them. Besides, it was already close to the evening, and he would soon need a place to rest.

Well, he _was_ well-known for his fickle decision making anyway, much to Jubilost's constant annoyance. Idol Rabier could wait just a little longer.

"Yes," he said simply. He released his _Phantom Steed _spell, exclamations of surprise rippling through the crowd. Ignoring them, he turned toward the father, who had acted as the de facto leader of their group. "Tell me everything."

-o-o-o-

That night, Rulk huddled near a bonfire away from the others, citing his request for privacy. After what he'd done earlier that day, they'd been very reluctant to comply, repeating their thanks over and over as he skulked away from the group.

When he finally managed to disentangle himself from everyone, he'd refreshed the spells acting on himself, and for good measure began to work on inscribing and enchanting an _Alarm_ ward that would mentally alert him if anyone crossed its threshold, just in case he needed to disguise himself once more. While he had earned their gratitude, he still had doubts as to whether they would trust a creature whose true form looked more similar to the monsters of their land than humans, especially since he had seen how badly Melromarc treated demi-humans.

The man had explained that they, indeed, were refugees from the village nearest the town where the governor of the region ruled from. His story matched what the guard at the toll-gate had earlier told him. They had suffered under the rule of the previous lord, and several of their number had even so much as joined the resistance against him. Their fortunes had abruptly changed just weeks prior, when an unknown adventuring party had ousted the governor and installed the leader of the resistance force in his place.

For a time, things had looked like they were improving, but the ensuing power struggle between the remnants of the former governor's loyalists and the new governors resulted in fighting that damaged their homes. Taxes hadn't changed in the slightest, and people had fought over scraps of what was left. In the disorder that followed, some turned to banditry, and began looting nearby villages. Mercenary bands had been hired both to deal with the bandits and suppress the social unrest, and the refugees had elected to flee their homes to escape from both taxes and bandits.

Of course, the refugee hadn't seen it as such. This was information that Rulk had inferred from his perspective both as an outsider and former ruler; the refugees had been lamenting how their optimistic hopes for the future had been crushed when their lives only became harsher following the governor's ousting.

Rulk decided that he would investigate it early on the morrow. If his version of events was right, he could probably help them in his capacity as an adventurer and former baron and king. Of course, if they were simply corrupt and oppressing those under their charge, then suffice to say that Rulk had no love for tyrants. The last tyrant he fought had his city infiltrated and was personally felled by one of Rulk's spells.

He would need to choose his spells for the task ahead. Spells for disguise and travel were a necessity, but he could afford to spare some Enchantment spells such as _Modify Memory_. Thus far, his only known threat were bandits, but he had been ruling long enough to reasonably doubt that bandits were the only troubles plaguing the new administrators of the region.

In the end, he had settled for a balanced spell repertoire, giving him options for travel, intermingling with the locals, and combat. When all was said and done, he still felt capable of memorising a few more spell matrices before truly straining his mind.

He remembered the refugees he had met earlier, now resting in their group just several tens of metres away. An idea came to his mind, and he smirked to himself as he put another spell to memory.

Bet Linzi and Octavia would have enjoyed this.

-o-o-o-

When he awoke, he could still scarcely believe what had happened just the last afternoon. The mysterious traveller had conjured those mysterious berries from nothing, and his belly had been more full than it had been for weeks. The sick among them, who he and many of the others had been so worried about, had their health practically restored after eating only a single berry. It was only as he groggily sat up without his bones creaking and his body protesting that it registered that _yes,_ it was all real.

He didn't know how he could possibly repay the mage's kindness. They had tried offering him whatever possessions they had, but had been flatly rejected. He was a man of mystery, refusing to join them as they took shelter that evening despite how much the children had been pestering him.

The mage had promised to his kid that he would help them out. He didn't know if he was truly capable of doing so, or just placating his child, but as things were he had done more than they could ever repay him for already. He would make sure that everyone knew of what the mage had done, and tell everyone of his good name.

His good _name…_

_By the Heroes!_ Abruptly, the sleep vanished from his eyes, wide alert. Had no one thought to ask the mage for his _name_?

Quickly, he stepped gingerly away from the tents they had scrapped together with what little cloth they had, hoping desperately that the mage had not already left. How could he have been so ungrateful to someone who had helped them so very much?

As he walked briskly toward where the mage had said he would be spending the night, he paused at a strange sight midway between the cluster of tents and the mage's location. Was that…

Was that a _door_?

Surely it couldn't be anything but. It was rectangular in shape, and had what looked to be a doorknob. The problem was that it was completely flat, two-dimensional, and _glowing_.

He was about to investigate further, when he noticed a small scrap of paper by the door's base. Bending over, he picked it up and began to read. The writing itself was messy and basic, but its meaning was clear enough:

_Gone to visit governor and see what I can do. Parting gift for all of you through the door. Simply enter, and enjoy._

_\- RW_

_P.S. Door and gift will remain for twenty-four hours. Cannot take anything out. Sorry I cannot do more._

Another gift? His hands trembled as he carefully folded the piece of paper, holding it in his lands lest the dirt on his clothes sully its surface. Everyone would want to see this. Quickly, he returned to the cluster of tents, rousing up the villagers.

"Everyone!" he exclaimed eagerly, waving the note in the air. Some had already awoken, while others were just beginning to stir. "The mage has left us a note! He has a gift for us!"

That rapidly caught their interest. They began to wake those still sleeping, the children eagerly running around and hurrying them up. When at last all were ready, he led them toward the strange door, still glowing a brilliant blue.

He looked toward the rest of them, and saw that they were all just as equally confused and excited as himself. Reverently, he held the doorknob, and pulled it open.

Never had he imagined what could have laid beyond it.

Through what was now a rectangular hole in the air was a large room, with ornately decorated marble tiles he'd only heard tales about from passing adventurers and stories told to children. Behind him, he heard gasps of surprise, and he wasn't sure if he had joined them. He paused only for a second longer, and stepped through.

It was even larger on the inside.

He was in a large chamber, measuring tens of metres across in either dimension, with staircases at the far end draped with red carpets that were trimmed with rims of gold. The railings shone brilliantly, as though made of pure gold. Above himself, the roof seemed almost to consist of _crystal_, carved into a magnificent piece of artwork only made more beautiful by the golden beams of sunlight streaming through it.

Did even the palaces of kings match up to this place? What _was_ this?

Others began stepping through the doorway behind him, and just like him they too were awestruck by the sheer magnificence of the place. The children squealed, rushing ahead of the rest once they entered. He was about to shout for them to stop, lest they damaged what was almost certainly the mage's property, when people began to _stream _down from both stairwells.

"Ahem!" The man wore fine clothes of a design similar to that which he had only previously caught a glimpse of when the previous governor and his entourage travelled past his village on their carriage. That, however, was not the most attention-grabbing detail.

He was almost completely _transparent_.

"The Master has informed us to expect you. The meal has already been prepared. Please, if you will follow me?" His voice was rich and refined, words clearly enunciated in an accent fit for royalty, his head lowered regally, looking toward them with deference.

_Master? Meal?_ What was going on? _Why_ was he transparent?

Others began to murmur behind him.

"Ah, but of course! The Master did warn us that you were unfamiliar with these magics. I do apologise." The transparent man in the lead looked toward them, bowing deeply. "Allow me to explain. We are the Master's magical servants. Today, we exist only to see to your needs."

_Magical servants?_ _See to THEIR needs?_ His eyes almost popped out of his head. How… why… _what_?

Numbly, he followed after the children, who were already chasing down the ethereal servants, poking at their legs, whooping in wonder as they felt resistance from the spectral bodies. They were led to a massive hall the likes he had never seen before, rows of ornate tables already prepared with the finest of cutlery. One by one, they were ushered to their seats by the transparent servants.

The adults were mostly speechless, looking at one another as though drawing reassurance from each other that _yes,_ this was still real, and they had not gone insane from starvation and disease. The children looked around eagerly, as the mage's servants left the hall, leaving only the lead servant remaining.

"Please, enjoy yourselves today." His voice magnified across the hall, and the children fell quiet. "It is the Master's wish that you eat, drink, and be merry. After the meal, feel free to explore the mansion's many rooms. If your clothes need mending or washing, please do not hesitate to make use of our services. Today, you live like _kings_."

The hall remained silent. His fellow villagers-turned-refugees must have been thinking the same things as himself.

_Eating? Drinking? Repairing and washing their clothes?_ _Living like kings?!_

"Master Rulk has recorded a message, that he wishes for you to hear."

_Rulk. _He had a name for the mage, now.

The silence was almost reverent as they looked toward the servant. When next he spoke, the speech was completely different, neither the servant's voice nor what they had heard from the mage the day before.

"_Apologies for setting things up this way. No doubt you would all have many questions. I must admit, I do wish I can see your expressions in person." _The disembodied voice began chuckling to himself. "_As my Unseen Servant has probably informed you, it is my wish that at least for today, you forget the worries that have plagued you the past weeks. Eat and drink to your heart's content. Following the meal, my servants will see to it that your clothes are fully patched and repaired as though brand new."_

"_Regrettably, this mansion will only remain for twenty-four hours, and nothing from within can be brought to the outside world." _Somehow, after all that he had done for them, the mage still managed to sound _apologetic. "It is my hope that I will soon be able to resolve matters here, and to restore your lives to the state that each of you deserve."_

The stunned silence continued. Even the _children_, ever the insufferable brats, did not speak. He looked around at his fellow villagers. They, too, looked just as disbelieving as he.

There was a sound of the snapping of fingers, and with that, the doors to the hall flew open.

Heavenly scents wafted past his nostril, and though his belly was not yet empty from the berry he'd eaten yesterday, his mouth still watered. It was no exaggeration to say that food began _cascading _in, carried on the most exquisite of plates by dozens of transparent servants.

As he took the first bites of the meal, his eyes practically teared at the most succulent and divine-tasting meats he had ever eaten in his life, and probably _would_ ever eat. All around, the silence still held, some savouring every single morsel of the food, while the children dug in greedily.

_And there was still more food being brought in._

He took back everything he said about the mage. He clearly was no adventurer. He hadn't heard of magic such as this from any of the adventurers or traders that passed by the region in the past; not even from fairy tales told to him when he was a child.

No, something like this could only have come from a _deity._

RW, the note had said. _Rulk. _Rulk the Wise? Rulk the Wondrous?

He would make sure that his good name was made known to others.

-o-o-o-

Kilometres away, as he entered the governor's office, Rulk wondered whether or not the refugees had entered the _Magnificent Mansion _yet. Hopefully the plan worked, and he hadn't just scared them shitless from the sight of a glowing portal with only a note describing what he'd done.

Come to think of it, that Seventh Level Conjuration spell could just as easily have been termed _Mordenkainen's Murder Mansion_ if used for any other nefarious purpose.

The office building itself was a flurry of activity, with heavily harried people moving around, sifting through sheets of paper. There wasn't a receptionist of any sort, and the people here looked more accustomed to manual labour and combat than desk workers or administrators. They had probably been members of the resistance, abruptly thrust into a position of authority that they were scarcely able to manage.

He knew that feeling. Were it not for his advisors, his barony would have failed within the first month.

No one paid him any mind as he entered. For a moment, he listened in on their conversations, as they shouted orders and reports over one another.

"More bandits to the east –"

"The mercenaries are demanding more payment to dispatch the beast –"

"There's been dissent in Greenbough Village –"

"The men are demanding more pay –"

"Trade has gone down _again –_"

It was chaos. He coughed politely. Still, no one paid him any mind.

_Well, I tried._ "HEY!" he shouted, enhancing the volume of his voice with _Thaumaturgy_ through the power of the Orb.

Heads turned to face him as his booming voice brought an end to their… well, he couldn't really call them _conversations_, could he?

"What?!" an irritated looking man asked, a nasty scar running down across his left cheek. "Who are you supposed to be? We're busy here!"

"I'm an adventurer," he lied. "I heard that there's been some trouble in the region, and –"

"We can't pay," the man snapped. "Go away."

How rude."I'm not asking for payment," he continued saying. "I ran into some refugees that fled down south from the nearby village. They said you're facing problems with bandits?"

"Bandits, monsters, protests, we've got them all," someone else said, rolling his eyes. Like the other man, he too looked to be more versed in combat than governance. "Take your pick."

"What _are_ you looking for, if not coin?" the scarred man asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. "I know you adventuring types. You come in, kill some monsters, claim your reward, then leave and call it a day."

Ah, right. The refugee did mention that it was an adventuring party that had been responsible for instigating the resistance in the first place.

"Maybe I'm just an altruistic type?" he suggested. When the man's distrust only increased, he sighed. "Look. I've heard what happened with the previous adventurers that ousted the previous governor. I know you don't have a reason to trust me."

Rulk stepped closer toward them, inspecting the giant map of the local area that occupied most of the table in the middle of the room. At least they had some degree of organisation, having labelled the positions of bandits and monsters based on reports that had trickled in. He certainly hadn't been capable of doing as such when he first became a baron, until Valerie had straight up _demanded _for him to do so.

"You don't need to trust me," he continued, looking back toward the scarred man, whose authority the others had deferred to. "Just point me in the right direction. Either I help, and you benefit; or I don't, and nothing changes. There's no downside for you."

"And if you demand payment after?" he challenged.

Rulk shrugged. "Your word against mine. There's been no request for adventurers either, so I can't contest that."

For a moment, they looked unwaveringly at each other. In the corner of his vision, he could see some of the men shifting.

"Maybe we could hear him out?" someone finally broke the impasse. Excellent. "What he said makes sense, so…"

He was carefully scrutinised once more by the scarred man, before he finally relented, gesturing to the map. "You better not be wasting our time," he warned.

Rulk nodded, taking a closer look at the map as the man began to brief him of the situation. "As you've heard, we've got bandits hiding out in the mountain range further out to the east. They've been attacking passing traders, robbing them of everything of value. We've tried sending in soldiers to take them out, but they just hide from us every time."

He studied the path that the man had pointed out. The mountain range was just adjacent to the major road leading out of the Northern Territory, a prime location for preparing ambushes. Without practically flushing them out from the mountains by force, the bandits could easily continue to waylay passing traders. Word would spread, which meant that…

"And the traders aren't coming in, then?"

Someone else groaned, nodding. "We've had _no_ traders in the last week. We can't even bring in food to feed the people, since everyone is too scared to enter even if they aren't going past the mountain road."

"What about your farms?"

"Crops won't be ready until spring," the one who was in charge informed him. "That damned corrupt governor took _everything_ the farmers grew, and then burned down the granary before the Bow Hero and his party could capture him."

The _Bow Hero_ was part of the adventuring party that had been responsible for the situation? Granted, he would have done the same, but perhaps it would have been more prudent to stay put and help deal with the fallout that such a change in leadership would entail.

It didn't matter now, though. "What about this place, here?" He pointed at a large woodland area that had been clearly demarcated on the map. "You could hunt some animals, or see if there are any fruit or materials that could be used for trading."

"We tried that," the scarred man sighed, running a hand down the side of his face. "Local villagers were chased away by monsters, and no one's dared to enter since. We can't even spare the men to do so, since they need to keep the peace here before everyone goes up in revolt. And before you ask; yes, we've tried mercenaries, but we can't even afford to retain them anymore."

Hmm. Well, it seemed his earlier hypotheses were wrong. This man was neither doing this out of malice or incompetence. He seemed to know what he was doing, but had inherited a terrible state of affairs from the previous governor, a heap of unrealistic expectations from the populace that had been thrust into his hands, and a string of bad luck at every turn that hampered his efforts to remedy the situation.

Well, good thing he was here, then.

"Right." Mentally, he took careful note of the map, putting the demarcated locations to memory. "I'm off, then."

"Told you the situation was impossible," the man scoffed. "Told you that you adventurers were nothing more than –"

"I'm off to take out the bandits," Rulk corrected. Abruptly, the man fell quiet. "Unless you'd rather the monsters first?"

"You're going _alone_?" he asked incredulously. "Are you crazy?"

"The bandits, then," Rulk said, completely ignoring his question, already walking toward the door. "I'll be back later."

Bandits and monsters, huh? Now _that_ was more his usual territory.

Already, his mind was awhirl with ideas he'd used to deal with bandits encroaching on his lands in the past. The _Nok-Nok Honeypot Special_, which gave a more friendly image than the jingle that the goblin had come up with (_Gold is for bait, Knife is for stab)_, seemed like it would do nicely here.

And if it failed, there was always Amiri's favoured '_BLOOD FOR GORUM!' _strategy.

-o-o-o-

His plan worked better than expected. Barely an hour later, he had already found the bandits.

Once he had left the town, he had used the Fifth Level _Creation_ spell from the School of Illusion to create a physical wagon, which he pulled along the road toward the bandit's purported hideout with a cast of _Phantom Steed. _The material that had been pulled from the Plane of Shadow to create his wagon wouldn't hold its material form indefinitely, but the few hours that it would last was more than long enough for his purposes.

He had only just made it along the winding road that curved around the base of the mountain before the path ahead had been blocked by bandits. Pretending to panic, he turned his carriage around, only for more bandits to appear from wherever they had hidden.

Good. He brought his horse to a halt, dismounting from it as bandits neared and surrounded him from both sides.

"Hah! We've got another one, lads!" One man wearing equipment that looked of far better quality than the rest laughed as he approached. Rookie mistake, telling the enemy who the leader was before the fight even began. "Alright, rich boy! Hand over everything you've got, and maybe we'll let you go with your life, eh?"

Nok-Nok always enjoyed this next part. For all that the goblin desired to become a hero, it was a shame that his true talent lay in acting.

"Are you robbing me?" He gasped in feigned surprise. "Oh, no! Whatever will I do?"

"Stop fooling around, merchant!" the bandit chieftain snapped, holding a sword out threateningly at the head of the group, barely a few metres away from Rulk now. "You think we're joking? This isn't a game! Hand over your money!"

"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hand placatingly, looking over the group in front of him. As he did so, he tossed a coin over to the leader. "Here."

Two of them had arrows trained on him, but one of them was very clearly holding his bow in shaking arms. Many of the others around him were similarly _very_ hesitant about going through with this. They were probably the villagers who had been seeded into the pre-existing bandit gang. No surprise that their equipment was the worst of the bunch. Perhaps they could be reasoned with?

"What the –" he cursed, grabbing the coin as it flew toward him. Rulk mentally laughed at the look of mixed anger and incredulity on his face. "One copper coin – are you _joking_?"

"Come on, it was funny!" Alright, Rulk couldn't deny that he was getting into the spirit of this. He could understand why Nok-Nok, Linzi and Octavia found this approach so entertaining.

"You want to know what we did with the last merchant, boy?" He spoke dangerously, advancing even closer. A sadistic grin crossed his face. "He didn't want to give up the merchandise, see, so we had to take his _arms_ out of the equation. Then he tried to run, so we took the _legs_, too. You want to end up like him too?"

Rulk's eyes narrowed. Alright. He crossed the line. Play time was over. At least those that he had mentally noted as villagers were looking at each other uneasily.

"Not particularly."

Fine, maybe one final jibe.

"To hell with it, just kill him!"

One arrow was loosed toward him, impacting against the Arcane Ward he had prepared long before the ambush had even begun, bouncing away from him harmlessly. Privately, he was fairly certain that even if the Arcane Ward hadn't been there, _Mage Armour_ would have been more than sufficient to deflect the projectile.

"What the – MAGIC!" The bandit leader cursed, moving his sword to stab at his torso. Too slow; Rulk had dealt with far more agile enemies.

"_Pulvis._"

For the second time since his arrival into this world, he cast a _Disintegrate _spell. Unlike the first time, where the giant zombie had been too large for the spell to fully affect its entire body, this bandit fared far worse. The moment the green beam of energy connected with his breastplate, _every _part of him – flesh, blood, armour, weapon and all – turned to dust.

The bandits stalled in their tracks. Rulk mentally noted which ones had their weapons drawn, and which ones were backing their way out of the fight.

"Anyone else?" At that declaration, some of those he'd pegged as villagers threw their weapons down, running away from him. Moments later, they were trapped by the _Web _spell he casted, turning to look at him with eyes that were wide with fear.

Another took the opportunity to launch an attack on him; one of those he'd noted was more than willing to attack what seemed to be a helpless merchant. Rulk didn't mind reacting to his aggression with equal fervour, sending a _Firebolt _toward him that burned _through_ his chest, dead even before he hit the ground.

With that, the fight may as well have been over. Killing the bandit leader could have been a fluke, but taking out two of them without batting an eyelid was too much for them to reckon with. They couldn't even escape, having cut off all possible paths with _Web_. Here, the mountainous path that made it such a prime location for ambushes had been turned to his advantage.

_Nok-Nok Honeypot indeed._

"W- what do you want?" the one who had released the arrow at him asked fearfully, his bow already having been thrown on the ground.

"Is this all of you?"

He didn't even need to use _Detect Thoughts. _The man was nodding vigourously, beads of sweat running down his forehead.

"Where's everything that you stole?"

"In the cave! It's all in the cave!" Someone else hurriedly shouted. "Please, don't kill us!"

Rulk turned to look at him. He flinched, eyes widening even further. "Please! I'm sorry! I didn't want any of this!"

Nearby, the others were nodding their own agreement, fearfully pleading with him. He held up a palm, and instantly there was silence.

"Things are going to change around here," he said slowly, inspecting each of his faces. Good, some hints of regret and fear. He could work with that. "Your bandit gang is over. We're going to retrieve everything that you took, and then we're heading back to town. Turn yourselves in, and _maybe_ I'll see if I can convince the new people in charge to be lenient."

Again, he looked over the defeated bandits. Most were probably agreeing out of fear, but that was good enough for him. If he resolved the other issue at hand, things should improve in the region, and they need not turn to banditry.

"Oh, and if you're thinking about killing me, do remember what happened to your boss." He pointed at the pile of dust messily scattered on the ground. The few of them that had still seemed reluctant looked between Rulk and what remained of the bandit leader, before they too gave in.

He didn't even need to restrain them as they led him to where their hideout had been. It was fortuitous; he hadn't thought far enough ahead to bring rope, and he really didn't want to spend a _Creation _spell for something so simple.

They followed him meekly, carrying misappropriated goods of all forms as he led them back to town. He unceremoniously dumped them with the astonished governors, told them to give the former villagers a second chance (after first warning of the fate that would befall them if they returned to banditry), before heading off once more to deal with the monsters before they could get a further word in.

Truly, there was nothing quite as satisfying as reliving the good old days.

-o-o-o-

Bandits, check. As for the monsters…

He was currently making his way through the thick undergrowth of the wooded area, keeping an eye out for any sign of the monsters in the area. While not quite as skilled as Amiri in tracking and naturecraft, the beasts here weren't exactly being subtle in their movements. Within minutes of entering the forest, he'd been able to find fresh footprints in the damp soil.

On closer inspection, they appeared to look like paw-marks. A wolf of some sort, perhaps?

Following the trail while under the veil of _Invisibility_, he eventually reached a small clearing with a small pack of wolf-like creatures he had only heard descriptions of before. There were several two-headed dogs, with fur as black as the Abyssal Plane itself, led by a significantly larger one with three heads.

He knew the latter well from his time spent studying the arcane. _Cerberus,_ the large one was called, the legendary keepers of the Gates of the Nine Hells. The smaller ones looked almost like Hell Hounds, although hadn't all previous descriptions of them in the many books he'd read written by brave adventurers who had ventured into the plane of the Devils noted that they had only one head?

There were many other minute differences that he noted. Many who had braved the journey to the Gates of the Nine Hells had been forced to turn back after meeting the '_giant hound, that towered over a human five times, wreathed in a coat of darkness and flame_', as he could quote verbatim. The Cerberus before him looked like a cheap mimicry, lacking the terrifying hellfire of the Demonic Plane that consumed the remains of many adventurers in the past.

Still, no reason not to be careful. Hiding off to the side, he let go of his _Invisibility_ spell out of the creatures' line of sight, concentrating on the spell he wanted to cast. Muttering an incantation softly, he focused the power of the Weave to a point at the very tip of a single outstretched finger, willing the highly condensed sphere of power to move out toward a position in the very middle of the pack.

"_Daktur," _he whispered, a small orb of flame no larger than a button hovering in mid-air. _Delayed Blast Fireball_ was a highly destructive Evocation spell with the complexity to match it, and his past experiences had taught him just how effective the spell was against mindless creatures. For those that succumbed to their primal nature, the small bead that glowed as bright as the sun itself tended to draw attention and curiosity, which meant that –

_BOOM!_

As the fireball burst when the smallest of the monster pups reached out to touch it, Rulk was already preparing another spell to take out the deadliest threat. Monster viscera was still flying through the air, the blast radius of the _Fireball_ not yet reaching its maximum range, when he launched a follow-up spell whose incantation was lost in the combination of the thunderclap arising from the concussive wave of force and the equally panicked and agitated howling of his prey.

The problem with fighting a Cerberus lay in the independent attacks launched by each head, alongside the combined jets of hellfire it could release in its breath. The standard course of action was to take out the heads one by one, disabling the ferocity of its attacks as the fight continued.

Here, though, Rulk had no idea if this truly was a Cerberus. Perhaps this world's equivalent were strange versions of hydras, in which case taking out the heads one by one was definitely _not_ what he wanted to do.

In that case, there was a spell that would work perfectly against both a Cerberus and hydra.

Electricity arced to life at his fingertips, shooting its way down from his shoulder, brilliant sparks intermingling with the bright orange glow still expanding from the _Delayed Blast Fireball_. He reared his arm backward, then _threw_ it forward forcefully, the serpentine arc of electricity passing through the very centre of the sigil of Evocation that glowed white-hot just a hand's length away, the sheer arcane power that fuelled the spell warping and ionising the air around him.

_Chain Lightning_ danced toward the head in the middle, guided by the threads of the Weave manipulated by Rulk's will, then jumped to each of the other heads in turn. Middle, right, left; the concentrated bolt of lightning seared its way through each of the monster's skulls, and then from there it leapt upward into the air, bending sharply to fall almost vertically through the midsection of the Cerberus' body.

Yup. This hadn't been a true _Cerberus_. The watchdog of the Devils homeland would never have left its place by the Infernal City's gates. In the aftermath of his spell, a gaping hole had been left in the middle of each head, its body caved downward into the ground below by the final arc of his Sixth Level Evocation spell. The Fireball had now done its work, decimating its lesser kin nearby, leaving only a fortunate few that had been at the very edge of the blast radius.

For an instant, they fell to their basest instincts, caught in indecision between attacking the one who had ambushed them, fleeing from the wizard who had killed their leader in his opening spell servo, and simply stunned by the flashing lights and sounds of explosions amidst the barrage of spells.

One began to flee, but Rulk simply held his hand in front of him, generating three magical darts with yet another display of Evocation that chased down the running hound. The _Magic Missiles _danced around trees, avoiding the twisting vines and shoots as the monster frantically attempted to take cover, guided by magical precision as it sought down its target.

A pack of two darted away from Rulk together, seeking safety in numbers, but they had made the mistake of remaining within his line of sight. A word of power, a forceful _step_ and a thunderous burst of wind later, _Thunder Step_ teleported him directly in front of them, the ensuing blast propelling them backward into a dense cluster of trees, their skulls cracking against the hard trunks.

With that brief skirmish, the pack of monsters were dead, their bodies still singed and smoking. Embers were burning on the forest floor, and with repeated castings of _Control Flame_ he snuffed them out one by one before they could spread. The thunderous boom left in the wake of his final Conjuration spell that had allowed him to chase the fleeing monsters had sent leaves rustling through the canopy, still unceasing as he went to inspect the handiwork of his spells.

He touched the bodies of the fallen monsters, poking and prodding at its skin. They were unarmoured, with hide that was moderately thick, but it paled in comparison to the unnatural demonic hide that the Hell Hounds and Cerberus of the Nine Hells were said to possess. Still, he would need proof of his deed, and perhaps the locals could find a use for their remains.

…if he could call them remains, that is. Those caught in the epicentre of his first spell hadn't left many solid chunks behind.

He didn't need to do all that by himself. With a cast of _Unseen Servant_ and rapidly issued orders, his ghostly attendant began to hack at the heads of the dead creatures in sight to place them in his bag of holding.

Mindlessly, he cleaned himself from the loose bits of monster gut that had found its way onto his clothes with a use of _Prestidigitation._ While waiting for the _Unseen Servant _to finish its work, he explored his immediate surroundings, seeing what resources the forest held that might be useful for the locals.

His earlier display of power had disturbed the local flora, sending all manner of seeds and leaves falling to the floor below. Some he recognised as mundane plants common to both worlds, while some he didn't. Just in case, he kept a few of them for later study, if ever he managed to return to Golarion.

On closer inspection of the floor below, there were chunks of a golden jelly-like substance. Honey, he recognised. Nearby, loose bits of the honeycomb had been scattered, caught in the aftermath of his _Fireball_.

He reached to pick one up to inspect its quality. When he did so, however, the honeycomb simply _disappeared_ with a flash of bright light.

**Material Component: Honeycomb added. **

**Material components for spells Magic Mouth, Mass Suggestion, and Suggestion bypassed. Above spells no longer consume Item: Honeycomb.**

…_what?_

-o-o-o-

_Journal Entry #7_

_Aftermath of today's endeavour: Bandits and monsters dealt with. After exiting into the forest, I Created yet another wagon, loaded the monster heads into it and made my way back to town. It wouldn't have been a good idea to pull them straight from my bag of holding, since this world doesn't yet seem to have any understanding of pocket dimensions. _

_Hmm, come to think of it, perhaps I could set up a business venture there._

_The governor has promised to send men to gather resources from the forest for rebuilding and trade. With the bandits no longer an issue, there should soon be an influx of trade into the region. They had offered me a fair amount of silver that had been meant for the hiring of mercenaries, but I declined. The coin they offered was less than a thousandth of what I currently have in my bag, after all. Hopefully, the Northern Territory would stabilise soon._

_Yes, I am purposely being brief in my recount of events here. Let's skip right to the most important discovery of the day: the Orb apparently has the ability to absorb material components of spells, allowing for their casting even where the material would normally be consumed._

_Yes, that's right. No, I am not hallucinating. Spells that I normally wouldn't be able to cast, even with an Arcane Focus at hand, can now be used without the material component. Again, this is __groundbreaking_.

_Thus far, I have tested it only with the Honeycomb from the forest and a small amount of incense that I purchased upon my return to town, but the same effects apply. Glyph of Warding, Guards and Wards, Hypnotic Pattern, Control Weather, Conjure Air Elemental and Legend Lore no longer require the preparation of incense._

_Furthermore, it appears that I am able to __unlock__ the casting of spells normally available only to divine casters by absorbing material components. With incense, the tree-lattice has further revealed the presence of the Commune spell used by Druids, and the Divination, Forbiddance and Speak with Dead spells available to Clerics, although I am still locked out of casting them. Whether this is due to a lack of SP, or something that would require the absorption of more of the material component is still unclear. _

_This is huge. If it can truly be extended to spells consuming more costly reagents, some spells in my repertoire would become viable to commit to memory. Mighty Fortress, for example, could possibly be used for repelling a Wave or holding fleeing refugees as I had done earlier today, taking the place of Magnificent Mansion. If ever I am hounded by enemies of this world, it could also allow me to take cover within the construct without having to shatter an expensive diamond each time I want to cast it. That's a lot of savings, Jubilost!_

_Of course, I would first need to procure a diamond for that to happen. I may have a sizable amount of gold, but something of the quality I require may be difficult to find._

_It will be a matter for another day. For now, I continue onward._

_In two days, I confront Idol Rabier._

-o-o-o-

The Queen's orders still rang in her ears as she travelled south, back toward Melromarc. Her quarry had eluded her once, but she would not see a mission unfinished. She was a _Shadow_, the best of the best, and failure here was not an option. If her ladyship demanded it, then so it would be done.

The trail was cold, but there were ways to find where he had gone. Perhaps she had underestimated him during his first appearance. She had to think of him as an equal, as a _Shadow_, capable of using the same disguises and ways of eluding others as herself and the members of her order. She had never faced a challenge like this before, but no task was impossible.

It was why she had been going through disguise after disguise, interacting with those that a stranger to the kingdom might have talked to. She spoke to her network of spies, shadows in the night, inquiring of any information that could lead to the location of the orc being known.

Of the orc himself, there had been no sighting. But then there were strange rumours going around in the city and beyond, ones that had reached the ears of her network and were then verified as truth.

The Slave Merchant's belongings had been ransacked. He had paid a fair amount to quench all knowledge of that happening, lest his suppliers learned of his ineptitude. In return, he had also very reluctantly allowed for access to the contents of his private documents.

A mage had visited the local magical supplies shop in the city, and the witch had claimed meeting a man who possessed multiple magical affinities, more than even Queen Melromarc herself.

Refugees fleeing south from the Northern Territory were adamant that they had met a deity, who had gifted them an extravagant feast and a tour of a mystical mansion, before resolving matters in the region and allowing them to relocate to their former homes.

In all these reports, the person responsible hadn't matched the orc's description. In fact, were she not a trained Shadow, she doubted she could have picked out a single person that fit the descriptions she'd been given, given how utterly _mundane_ the people in each of these incidents were reported to look.

No, what was common to the latter two was the _name._

_Rulk._

He was interested in the slave trade, perhaps? The heroes did claim that orcs had taken slaves of their own in some of the fantasy creations of their world.

It didn't matter. She had a name now, and possible destinations where he could be headed. The Slave Trader had procured his slaves from numerous kingdoms, including Zeltoble, Faubrey and even within Melromarc itself. She could start her search there.

She had a mission, and she would see it through. The Queen had demanded it. The order was absolute.

"…_locate the orc. Determine for yourself what his intentions are with your normal methods. It is my hope that he can be a valuable ally, in which case you are to make contact at your discretion and negotiate for his cooperation. See if he will be willing to repel the waves in the other countries to help repair diplomatic relations with our neighbours, or to help the Heroes when the next Wave arrives."_

"_And if he is to be an enemy?"_

"_In that case," Queen Mirellia said slowly, her voice only cracking slightly as she issued the latter half of her instructions. Such was the burden of the crown. "Use every means at your disposal to kill him."_

* * *

**Hope that was okay!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Bit unsure about uploading this, but ehh what's written is written. ****Guess I'll upload this. Will read it again and edit for grammar and typos another day. Backlash incoming in 3, 2, 1... **

* * *

The plan was simple: infiltrate the town, find the slaver.

He had arrived on the outskirts of the nobleman's land two days after settling the problems faced by the people of the Northern Territory. He'd conducted an early investigation from where he'd hidden off some distance away from the town proper, using _Arcane Eye_ to conjure the eponymous magical construct that would transmit visual information to his mind as an extension of his will.

Even though it was already invisible, hovering in the air perceptible only to himself, he had opted to begin his initial surveillance at night, just in case there were some who might be able to detect the minute perturbations in the air as the construct drifted past. The night sky would help obscure its movements.

His first inspection hadn't been encouraging. There were many guards around the grand mansion sited high up atop a small hill that occupied centre-stage of the town, towering above the rest of the buildings. They had been stationed around just about every entrance Rulk could find, and while he was probably more than capable of taking all of them out, he'd rather not deal with the fallout that would arise from such an act.

_Invisibility _wouldn't work well, since a door mysteriously opening and closing would probably cause them to begin an investigation. This world _did_ after all have some form of Illusory magics, as his perusal of the tomes he'd bought informed him. _Fly_ing into the estate using the Transmutation spell of the same name while under the guise of _Greater Invisibility_ was an option, but there was the risk of the one-minute duration on the Illusion spell fading. In that case, the sight of a flying orc would _definitely_ draw attention.

_Dimension Door _would work, but only if he had a clear view of the inside of the mansion and was certain that he wouldn't immediately be spotted. Blindly entering a space already occupied by an object would only result in an annoyingly painful magical backlash.

With this in mind, the solution was simple. If the guards made entering the mansion difficult, all that he needed to do was for them to leave their posts. After the years he'd spent with an Arcane Trickster, a Bard and a Rogue in his party, coming up with possible ways of creating a diversion wasn't terribly difficult.

… and thus, that plan of action had led to where he was now, sitting at a table in one of the local taverns, a large flagon of ale in his hands, downing it in huge gulps as he surveyed the other occupants of the establishment. If work and leisure could coexist, Rulk certainly wouldn't say no to that.

One single observation stood out so far. In Melromarc, demi-humans hadn't been served in many establishments, but he had at least _seen_ them wandering the streets or sitting by the side, eyeing their masters as they ate or went about their business. Here, though, there were _no_ demi-humans.

As he eavesdropped on the conversations around him, he began to mentally note down some of their defining features. The tavern was a hive of activity, drawing traders, adventurers, guardsmen and craftsmen of all sorts. It was something he was very used to, having spent a fair amount of his downtime between ruling and adventuring in his barony's inn.

"… _said he took down a dragon somewhere off to the south…"_

"… _trade route's been reopened…"_

"_Tariffs have gone up…"_

"…_monsters to the west…"_

"…_mine with precious metals…"_

_Adventurer. Merchant. Jeweller. Fletcher. Blacksmith._ He assigned professions to the faces around him, a critical part of the plan he was going to pull off.

"… '_s been a monster wanderin' Mel…Melro…" _a heavily slurred voice came from the table just nearby, where one patron was animatedly talking to another group of adventurers.

"A monster?" a significantly more sober person questioned.

"Yess! Wuz off fightin' in Lute, shee, when the Wave came." He paused dramatically. Rulk saw him deliberately looking toward a group of ladies off to the side. Ah. One of those people. "Fought him meself, I did! Black as night, left me this nashty scar."

Huh. Rulk certainly didn't recognise him, but most of the knights had been wearing full armour. Besides, he had far more distracting thoughts on his mind at the time.

"How awful!" one of the nearby craftsmen who had been listening in chimed in. "Here, let me buy you a tankard!"

"Deeply appreciated," the drunk man rumbled, staggering as he turned to face him, closing his eyes momentarily when he caught the glare of the burning torch hanging off the wall in that direction. "Tried ushing a _Zweit Fire Blast_ on me, but then I blocked it heroically with me shield!"

For emphasis, he raised his hand in front of his face, re-enacting the scene, only to misjudge the distance in his inebriated state to hit himself in his face. Rulk snorted. Was it a compliment to him that people were already making up tales about him?

Rulk reached to take another swig of his ale, only to find that it had already been emptied. He sighed. Though the natural half-orc hardiness coupled with the Abjurer's gift of fortitude did wonders for him in battle, it worked against him at times like these.

Well, guess it was time to spring his plan. He'd already found his first victim.

The craftsman was returning to the table now, delicately balancing a tankard of beer in each hand. Rulk raised his own flagon, pretending to take a big mouthful of the drink, moving his lips where it was hidden from sight and stealthily wiggling the fingers of his other hand under the table.

A _Mage Hand_ shoved the craftsman from behind, sending _both_ pints of the foamy liquid soaring toward the drunkard, landing first into his hair before soaking through the back of his clothes. Abruptly, he ceased his speech, sobering up in an instant, turning slowly to face the unsuspecting man whose eyes were now wide with terror. Conversations ceased all around, and all eyes in the tavern turned toward the commotion.

The phantom hand had long since disappeared, leaving no one else the wiser.

"_WHY YOU LITTLE –" _he roared.

"It wasn't me!" The craftsman raised his hands in front of him in a panic. "It was –"

Another gesture and a whispered word, and _Minor Illusion_ perfectly mimicked the voice of an adventurer he'd been talking to just moments before.

"Hah! You clumsy old git!"

The man spun around again, placing his hand firmly on the adventurer's shoulder. "What did you jusht call me?!"

"Oi!" another one of the adventurers stood up, unsheathing his sword. "Unhand him, you brute!"

"Wait, wait!" the person who Rulk had mimicked raised his hands, utterly confused. "It wasn't me, so –"

_Mold Earth. _Rulk surreptitiously shifted the dirt on the floor, just subtle enough to be unnoticeable, while still allowing for his desired effect of causing the craftsman who had been slowly backing up to trip over.

He yelped, putting his hands out to brace his fall… only to land into _another_ table who had thus far been watching the commotion with amusement. Cups were toppled over, sending drinks spelling all over the table, onto the fine clothing that the merchants wore.

It wasn't a coincidence that they were also _extremely _drunk.

He turned away from them, looking at what damage had already been dealt. His initial target was now facing two of the adventurers, their weapons drawn, while the man whose voice Rulk had mimicked with his spell was trying helplessly to de-escalate. People were recovering from their initial surprise now, yelling over one another, their words completely indistinct. Perfect. Time for phase two.

He pointed a finger at one of the patrons, saying words that were now muffled by the chaos around him. He tried to emulate the voice of one of the other patrons, casting a _Message_ that only his target could hear.

"Your mum smells like…" he paused. What _were_ the insults of this land? Goblins certainly weren't native here. Oh well; he had to improvise. "Cerberus… piss!"

His target looked stunned, then turned around and shouted at an _extremely_ confused person behind him who hadn't been part of the fiasco.

Ehh, it worked out. He chose another target, pointed a finger, and fired a _Message. _And then another.

'You smell worse than a zombie!' was quickly followed by 'Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elder berries!'. By now, he had given up attempting to disguise his voice, seeing as nobody could hear each other over the rising din, and they were probably too drunk to remember his voice anyway. For fun, he messaged two people with 'You're ugly!' one after the other, watching as they promptly faced each other, decided that they were the ones who had given the insult, and began to exchange blows.

He looked around for a suitable target for his next spell, finding someone who looked was staggering where he stood, as though oblivious to his surroundings, scant moments from passing out. The spell he planned to cast had never before seen any use, and Rulk was determined to make his first casting of the spell a memorable one.

Using the newfound power of the Orb that he'd gained just days prior, he spent a solid minute casting _Magic Mouth _on one of the tables, making it speak to the man.

"_Your wife is a pig!"_

The man visibly yelped, and then promptly began hammering down blows onto the table, smashing it in half and causing the spell to dissipate.

…never mind. The spell was just as useless as he'd thought.

Finally lowering his mug, he looked over his handiwork. People were shouting, fists were raised, some were holding chairs, the adventurers were _still_ at an impasse, a couple of others were already passed out on the floor, while the helpless bartender tried desperately to get everyone to stop while he watched the destruction of his property. At some point, his employee had already left, presumably to call the local guards for some help.

Excellent. Truly, _Cantrips_ were the deadliest of spells. He had to thank Octavia for showing him these tricks.

His handiwork done, he left the tavern, leaving a somewhat generous tip of a gold coin as he did so. That should be enough to cover the repairs, right?

He was pretty sure he had seen several more taverns, bars and inns during his initial scouting mission with his _Arcane Eye…_

-o-o-o-

Six establishments later, the guards on duty were no longer able to handle the mysterious cases of fights that had been incited all around the city, including reports of a mysterious fire just outside of the town proper (courtesy of a _Hallucinatory Terrain_ spell – contrary to popular belief, Rulk didn't particularly wish for anyone to come to harm this night). They had run off to the nobleman's estate, bringing some of their peers that had been stationed there solely for his personal safety with them to help deal with the pandemonium around the town.

Finally, he could enter the significantly less fortified mansion. Invisible, he walked over toward his destination, resisting the urge to laugh each time a harried-looking guard ran past him. In the frenzy of activity going around town, they had abandoned their posts, even going so far as to leave the entrance completely unlocked and free for him to enter.

Right then, he was in. From what he knew and inferred of the man so far, it probably wouldn't be too far-fetched to guess that his room lay on the very top floor of the building. Despite never having met the man, from his role in the slave trade, the location of his mansion and the grandiose nature of the building, Rulk had the distinct impression that he loved to lord over others in every way that he could.

Seriously, he had doorknobs made of _solid gold_? He wasn't sure if even his _Magnificent Mansion_, a purely arcane construct conjured in an entirely separate plane, had such extravagance.

Some guards were still present in the mansion, of course. More than likely they were part of his personal entourage, hired solely for his protection. Was the nobleman even aware of what was going on in his town?

Of course, they were now few enough in number that where he could not avoid alerting them to his presence through _Invisibility _alone, he was able to cast _Catnap_, _Sleep _or _Jim's Glowing Coin _to temporarily incapacitate or distract them while he sneaked past. It probably wouldn't return to bite him in the rear, since guards would hardly want to admit that they fell asleep on the job. It took awhile, but after several staircases, many corridors and a few spells, he finally made it to the top floor.

Ahead of him was an ornately decorated door, larger than the others in the mansion. The small gaps between the door and its frame were completely dark. Still, Rulk carefully pushed it open, a spell ready in his mind in case his target was inside.

No one inside. He took a quick look around. There was a desk constructed of fine wood that overlooked the window, a grand chair decorated with rare metals and jewels, and…

Rulk's eyes narrowed. A _whip? _Already, he could see flakes of dried blood on the floor. He moved closer, taking it out of the small stand where it had been placed on. His hands touched its surface, and came back damp, stained a fresh crimson.

He had a good guess where it came from. His anger grew, but he kept it in check. While the man hadn't yet returned, he would take the opportunity to carry out some preparations.

After all, as many of his enemies had come to find out, there was nothing more terrifying than a wizard who came _prepared._

-o-o-o-

What were his men even _doing?!_

He had been in the midst of watching that delightful look of fear from one of the monster brats below when one of his men had stormed in. He had the audacity to interrupt him while in the midst of important work, saying that there was a disturbance of some sort within his town. He had been forced to put the night's activities to a halt, returning only to place his belongings back in his office, before being ushered out of _his _mansion to deal with his people's incompetence.

What did he even pay them for? Couldn't they do their job _right_?

It couldn't have been a coincidence either. Multiple fights started in his city? Reports of a fire raging outside his walls, only to turn out to be an illusion of some sort that didn't burn at all? If this was someone's idea of a prank, he would personally see to it that the man responsible was drawn and quartered.

Of course, he wouldn't kill him immediately. First, he would have his fun.

If it wasn't simple mischief, though, what could it be? The guards had been sent scurrying around town, which meant…

His eyes widened. The damned beasts! One of those monsters must be raiding his land!

Hurriedly, he ran toward the dungeon where he housed those foul beasts, moving down the hidden stairs quickly. If those animals thought they could start such trouble in his home –

Nothing stirred. In a locked cell, the latest of his entertainment whimpered as he drew close, still bleeding from the few lashes he'd given. He should have delighted in that, but right now he didn't much care. If it wasn't one of those beast-lovers, then…

By the Three Heroes! He was being robbed!

He ran back toward his estate, ignoring the sweat streaming down his brows. If a burglar thought he could make away with _his _property, he was sorely mistaken. He had connections, and power, and there would be no safe place in Melromarc for anyone that would dare commit such a heinous act.

Minutes later, when he entered his office, perspiration soaking through his clothes, he was utterly confused. Everything was where it should be. He took off his outer jacket, absently placing it on the ground near the door.

Could it just have been a prank, after all? It didn't matter. As soon as his men found the perpetrator, he would make sure that he understood why no one should ever dare to cross Idol Rabier.

After that wild goose chase, all he wanted was to return to his planned activities of the night before having been so rudely interrupted. Before that, all that running had made him thirsty, though, and he made to pour himself a glass of the finest wine he deserved.

The moment he stepped in front of his desk, he was suddenly hoisted up into the air. An attack! He flailed around, reaching for the whip he kept by his waist, but –

"Finally," a voice spoke from the shadows. He tried to turn, but he had no control over his limbs. The door to his room slammed shut. "Took you long enough."

-o-o-o-

He had been lying in wait in the extradimensional space of _Rope Trick_, watching as the man he presumed was Idol Rabier burst into the room, panting heavily, looking wildly around his office. Rulk had seen many pompous aristocrats before, particularly among the nobles he had been forced to interact with during the Rushlight Tournament. This man somehow gave off an impression that seemed distinctly worse than that, with his obviously large body habitus and elegant clothing that had been crumpled during the hurried rush he made back to his room.

The moment he crossed the threshold of the invisible _Snare _ward he had set up just metres away from the table, he had been hoisted up in the air by the Abjuration spell, which Rulk promptly followed up on using _Hold Person _to paralyse the aristocrat_. _An _Arcane Lock_ on the door later, and his fate was sealed.

Right. Time for answers.

"Un – unhand me, you burglar!" Though his body was paralysed, the ostensibly overweight man was trying vainly to overcome the power of his Enchantment spell. It was pointless; Idol Rabier's will was far too weak to overcome even an amateur wizard's use of the same magic.

Still, it didn't stop him from yelling at the top of his lungs, his voice rising shrilly. "Don't you know who I am?! I am _Idol Rabier, _and I will see you drawn and quartered for this! GUARDS! GUARDS, ATTEND ME AT ONCE!"

His voice was so loud it rattled the table nearby, sending a rather exquisite looking cup crashing down onto the floor, shattering to pieces. _Such a waste._

"They can't hear you," Rulk said calmly, purposely walking slowly toward the man who still lay suspended in mid-air. _Thud. Thud. _His footsteps continued at an even tempo, all the while being drowned out by incomprehensible screaming and yelling. "I'm afraid it's just you and me."

Idol had taken such a long time to return to the room while Rulk had been waiting, that he had managed to spend the full ten minutes slowly inscribing the complex arcane sigil of _Mordenkainen's Private Sanctum _around the entirety of the room. He had activated the spell just before scurrying off into the emptiness that was _Rope Trick_, preventing any sound from passing in, and more importantly _out_, of the confines of the warded area. To be safe, he had also bolstered the spell with additional sigils that prevented any form of teleportation or divination magics from piercing the barrier, and completely disabling sight through the boundary of the ward.

It was unfortunate that he was alone in dealing with the slaver here. When Octavia and Regongar had pitched this idea during their discussions, they had come up an intricate plan they termed _'Good slave, bad slave'_, where each would take turns nailing down a potential slaver until they finally cracked and yielded the information they desired.

Octavia's role would have been the soft approach, ranging from whispering sweet words of Enchantment that would break the man's will, to forcibly ripping the secrets out of his mind. Regongar favoured a more direct approach, hurling bolts of lightning or blasts of fire until at last the slaver cracked.

It didn't quite fit the narrative here, but Rulk figured he could do both.

"Idol Rabier," he continued, leisurely taking the time to cross the distance between them. "Let's talk."

"TALK?!" Rulk could see the spittle flying out of his paralysed body. How uncouth. "Do you even know who you're dealing with? I have connections, and power, and –"

He stopped mid-tirade, as Rulk released the effects of _Snare,_ while still maintaining his dominion over him through _Hold Person._ Idol yelped as he crashed onto the ground below, still paralysed, lying flat on his face.

_Thud. Thud. _Slowly, deliberately, Rulk rolled him over unceremoniously with his feet. Having already used _Invisibility_, and then _Hold Person, _both spells that required his utmost concentration, the Illusion and Transmutation spells that hid his true form from sight had long since faded. He looked down toward the man on the ground, who seemed as though he was paralysed in a mix of fear and shock.

…or it could also just be the effect of _Hold Person_.

"You!" Idol shouted, his eyes widening with recognition, but his voice began to quaver. "I've heard of you! You're that '_orc'_! You're the monster!"

There would be time for talk later. First, there was a spell he needed to cast.

"_You're_ the one responsible for all the trouble tonight!" Truly, did he only _just_ realise that? "You spoiled my entertainment! Do you think you'll get away with this?"

"Can you understand me, Idol Rabier?"

"How can a beast such as you speak our tongue!" He was gnashing his teeth now. "You're going to regret this, monster!"

Excellent. He understood. He began chanting, focusing on twisting the complicated magic governing his spell.

"_Fatum. Corpus. Anima. Innecto. Inprimo." _

An otherworldly pressure built up with each word that he spoke, pushing down upon his mind. Arcane runes of a meaning completely lost to the victim of his spell appeared in the air, surrounding both Rulk and the downed form of Idol Rabier. With each word, more sigils appeared, glowing brightly and yet never piercing the veil of _Private Sanctum_ that marked the boundaries of the room.

"Stop! Stop, what are you doing?!" Idol yelled in panic, probably feeling the pressure that came with the spell. Rulk had never been subject to it before – correction, never having even so much as _cast _it before – but his studies indicated that it was singularly unpleasant to the victim of the spell, and for good reason.

"_Vox. Voluntas. Licet. Fero. Cupio."_

"No! Stop!" Idol squirmed uncomfortably, somehow partially overcoming the paralysis affecting him. Rulk had to give him credit for that, even if he was still incapable of so much as struggling. "What do you want?!"

"_Idol Rabier_," Rulk spoke, his voice amplified from the power coursing through him from the ether that housed the threads of the Weave. With each word, the runes all around began to _hum_, binding and imprinting their will and meaning on the hapless victim of the spell. "_Before the ever-watchful eyes of Mystryl, O' Mother of the Weave, I compel you. I forbid you from lying to me, attempting to harm me or otherwise knowingly planning or performing any action that would seek to displeasure me. May these words be written in the threads of destiny and fate! May they be carved into flesh and stone!"_

His eyes were wide with terror. The scroll he'd copied the spell from did say that it was unpleasant, particularly since it touched the victim's _soul_ itself. In that regard, this Enchantment spell shared many similarities with spells of the School of Necromancy that Rulk was not particularly fond of.

"_Thus, I invoke this _Geas _upon you! Magic as my witness, may these words be etched upon your heart and soul!" _The sigils wrapped their way around Idol, coalescing into a swirling ball of light, rushing toward his chest. It glowed a deep red, passing through his flesh, leaving no trace behind. "_Parere! Indico!"_

_Hold Person_ had faded in the middle of his casting, leaving Idol thrashing on the ground from the _Geas_ that Rulk had placed upon him. It would have been far easier if he had _Zone of Truth_ available to him, but thus far he had not yet been able to unlock the casting of that divine spell through the Orb.

"Now then, Rabier," Rulk said, lifting the still-flailing Idol up from the floor, his face pale as a sheet, eyes darting about rapidly. "Let's talk."

-o-o-o-

What sort of foul magic was that?!

He gasped, looking at the face of the monster before him. By the Three Heroes, he looked even more savage in person than the communications that had been sent from the capital!

He had felt a tightness wrap around his chest, feeling a fire that _burned_ within as those glowing runes danced and swarmed around him. What sort of spell had this orc cast? A Geas? He had never heard of that kind of magic before.

The way he'd said those words, though, had been so eerily similar to the binding words of a _Slave Crest._

Preposterous. He would make sure that this monster knew his place, and –

Suddenly, his world lurched. Cold dread gripped him, his heartbeat quickening, and he felt his hair tingle and sweat roll down his back and –

_He was going to die._

"You've _already_ tried to test the Geas?" the monster spoke in a guttural tongue, utterly befouling their beautiful language. He had the audacity to shake his head at _him!_ "I must say, you're stupider than you look."

He grit his teeth. He dared to look _down_ upon him? This beast, worse than _demi-human filth_, thought himself his _better_? Where were his guards anyway? What were they doing?

"Gua –" his words caught in his throat once more, his entire body seizing up, a deadly premonition flashing through his mind. In that instant, he only knew one thing.

_If he continued doing this, he would die._

"What manner of magic is this?!" He looked up toward the orc. He had the gall to look _amused_! Did he think Idol to be a simple slave?

"You understood the words, didn't you?" The orc raised a questioning eyebrow. Idol wanted nothing better than to smash his fist into that proud face, to lash his whip against his –

_Suffering._

Again, that foul portent coursed through him, and he couldn't even _think_ about going down that line of thought. He gasped, body shaking, barely able to support himself on his hands and knees.

"Because you seem incapable of understanding this, Rabier, I'll make it simple for you. The _Geas_ binds you to my will. The terms are simple. You can't lie to me, attempt to harm me or even _think _of doing anything that you know would make me unhappy." The beast's words came from above. "No doubt you've already felt its effects first-hand. I must warn you, though: breaking the Geas as you are now would almost _certainly _cause your death."

His _death? _Surely that was impossible. Even Slave Crests could cause pain, at most, as he'd found out in his time dealing with those beasts that thought themselves equal to humans. No, it had to be a trick.

He had to remain calm. He was _Idol Rabier,_ and he had brought this town from the shithole it had been to the prosperous region it currently was. He had rid his lands of the demi-human filth that plotted their treachery at every turn.

"What do you want?" he asked. _Every_ man wanted something, even if this was no human.

"I already told you." He felt himself being lifted up on the ground, placed onto his chair that had been toppled down to the floor. "I want to talk."

The orc didn't think to bind him? Fool. He could rush over to grab his whip and –

_Death. _

He snapped to look at the orc, feeling the chill of the grave grip at him again. It came stronger now, and he felt his body involuntary lurch up from where he was seated.

"You really don't learn, do you?" The orc had his arms folded nonchalantly, sitting on _his_ prized mahogany table. How he wished to wipe that smile off his face and –

_Forbidden. Death._

"While it is tempting to continue watching you struggle, I do have things to get done tonight." The orc's expression changed into one of utmost seriousness. Idol had seen eyes like those before, during the wars he had fought alongside King Melromarc. He had seen them among brigands and bandits. He had seen them in the Coliseum of Zeltoble.

They were the eyes of someone who knew himself to be superior, who was so overwhelmingly confident that the other party was of no threat. They were the eyes of someone looking down upon a fly at his feet.

He had seen them reflected in the terrified eyes of the demi-human scum down in his complex below. _His_ eyes.

And now, he was staring right into them.

_Death._

Once again, he felt a thrill of fear, and this time it had nothing to do with the Geas that had been forced unto him.

-o-o-o-

"Let's start simple. First question," Rulk said, standing up from where he sat on the edge of the table, advancing toward the man who was paralysed in fear, and now it had nothing to do with his casting of _Hold Person_. "Are you a slaver?"

He waited patiently. A moment passed. Strange, the Geas hadn't triggered yet –

Ah. "In case it wasn't obvious, I would be _most _displeased if you refuse to answer."

That did the trick. He was either an extremely capable mind-mage that knew how to compartmentalise and suppress his thoughts, or just extremely dense in making inferences as to Rulk's intentions during this interrogation. Given his track record thus far, he was leaning toward the latter.

Rabier tried to resist, but again his face paled, his body tensing, and he inhaled sharply. "Yes!" he exhaled forcefully, finally able to gain some respite from the compulsion that the Geas held. Rulk was beginning to wonder whether he was capable of simply breaking the Geas by _accident _at this point, with how much he had tested the spell of binding. "Yes, I sold a slave to some merchant a month ago!"

"Just one?" That didn't quite match. There hadn't been any demi-humans in his estate.

"Yes! I swear, it's the truth!" Idol pleaded desperately.

"Why are there no demi-humans in your lands?"

Again, he resisted, but the _Geas _was absolute. Rulk had no idea how much combat the man had seen, but there was no way his soul could withstand the backlash that would result from breaking the binding words.

"Those foul beasts –" His words caught again. Ah, good. He was capable of learning, after all. "Those _demi-humans," _he forced out vehemently, reluctantly addressing them by the proper term. "They don't deserve to live on our lands and leech from _our_ hard work."

Annoying. He was avoiding the question, while still working his way around the terms of the Geas. This man was _shrewd._

"You didn't answer my _question."_

He resisted hard, far more than his previous showing. His face turned deathly white, and he began thrashing on the ground. Rulk was worried he would _actually_ break the Geas, which was frankly impressive considering how he had pegged the man as someone who valued his own skin above all else.

"I took them!" He finally yelled out, at last admitting the secret he'd tried to hide, breathing heavily when at last the pressure ceased. Tears were streaming from his eyes, leaving damp trails across his face, and he saw blood on his palms and fingernails from where they had dug deep into flesh as he resisted against the spell. Rulk almost felt uneasy at the situation, watching how the man suffered. He continued to wheeze, speaking softly, his hair now dishevelled from the struggling.

"Where?" Rulk's eyes narrowed. With the blood he'd seen earlier, this couldn't be good.

"The dungeon!" After how long he'd endured the breaching of the magical compulsion, Idol seemed to have given up attempting to hide his secrets, easily telling Rulk what he wanted to know so long as it meant that the unpleasant sensation would stop. "They're all in my dungeon!"

"Tell me what you did to them."

He spoke rapidly, desperately, telling Rulk in all manner of detail just exactly had transpired in this land. With each sentence he spoke, rage, disgust and frank _horror _began to build up. Any pity he might have felt for the man faded in an instant.

The Slave Trader's notes had been right, and yet so overwhelmingly inadequate at describing just what depravity had gone on here. Torture was putting it lightly.

He had starved them, beaten them, left mere _children _suffering in a way that no one ever should. And for what? Some vague sense of power, listening to helpless children cry out in fear?

Even the Technic League hadn't sunk to that level. They worked their captives till their knees gave way, but _never _had they tortured their slaves purely for its own sake.

Idol Rabier was now looking at him terrified, as though waiting for him to pass judgement. The Geas wasn't being tested, but still his breath caught in his throat.

"Do you even _know_ their names?"

His silence was damning. In the silence of the room, all external sound blocked from the ward that Rulk had erected, he could only hear the sounds of his own heartbeat that quickened with rage and indignation, and Rabier's own rapid and fearful one.

By all rights, this man should _die_ for what he'd done. Octavia and Regongar would have approved. Even Linzi, who liked to tread a more diplomatic path, wouldn't have batted an eyelid if he executed the man on the spot.

For an instant, flames danced at his fingertips, the beginnings of a _Firebolt_ forming as arcane sigils shimmered in the air. Killing him was _just_.

But a part of him knew that another tyrant would rise up to take his place in the ensuing power vacuum. He could take over this land by force, certainly, but with the current state of events he couldn't freely walk the streets as a half-orc. Worse, he still had only the vaguest ideas of the diplomatic situation of this land.

As much as he hated it, Idol Rabier had to live, at least for now, until Rulk could succeed his position or found another and successfully work the situation to put a replacement in charge.

This hadn't been the plan when he set off from Melromarc. He was supposed to have found the slaver, dealt with the issue, free those in his captivity and then leave for other lands. Finding out that there had been the systematic oppression and enslavement of an entire race organised by one who held a position of authority in this land hadn't been part of the plan.

He couldn't just leave now, though. He saw what would happen if he did. The Bow Hero's good intentions had only further destabilised the situation in the Northern Territory. He would need to use Idol Rabier's present influence, put an end to the oppression of demi-humans in his demesne, and either find a replacement to continue the work he started or eventually take over from Rabier's position, if he ever managed to get that stupid bounty off his head.

Right here and now, though, Rabier had to live. Still, it didn't mean that he would get off scot-free.

"Idol Rabier," he said slowly, watching as the man flinched when he finally spoke after a long silence. "I have fought many monsters, but you are the most deplorable one I've met."

He tried to make a run for it, but the Geas must have activated, because he promptly fell over, rolling down onto the floor. Still, he pushed himself frantically backward on his hands, trying to put distance between himself and Rulk.

"Unfortunately, I cannot kill you right now," Rulk reluctantly said. A glimmer of hope flashed through Rabier's face, and a slight sneer returned. He would come to regret that.

Death wasn't the ultimate punishment, after all. Octavia and Regongar had many ideas in mind for the Technic League that didn't involve simple _killing_.

"That doesn't mean that I will allow you to go unpunished."

With that, Rabier tensed up again, but Rulk's already had his spell prepared. He spoke clearly; a single syllable, simple and efficient, and its effects were immediate.

_Power Word Pain._

Rabier screamed louder than any time in the past half-hour, but his cries were heard only by the two people in the room. His body twisted and turned, then _folded _in on itself as he tried in any way imaginable to shake off or at least reduce the spell whose sole purpose was to cause agony. It left no physical damage, did nothing to harm an individual, and yet it was still one of the most feared spells in existence.

Soon, his voice turned hoarse, and his body barely shook, spasming mildly as the spell continued its effects. Rulk knew that the pain hardly abated at all. He tried his best to ignore the pit of uneasiness he felt, thinking of the suffering his victims must have felt. He _deserved _this.

He didn't know how long he let it continue. His body simply lay twitching on the floor, with no sound escaping his lips. At last, he let the spell cease. Rabier simply flopped onto the ground, unmoving, his chest barely rising and falling.

"You get my point now," he said. Rabier didn't visibly react, but Rulk knew the workings of the spell. He was still conscious and aware. "You know what I can do. Know this, Idol Rabier. I let you live, but you are _not_ in control here. Your will is _not _your own. You will remain lord of this town, but _everything _goes through me. Test me again, and I will rip the soul from your body, set it aflame, turn it to dust, reintroduce it your body and _never let you know the peace of death."_

He couldn't quite do that, of course. There were limits to even the most gifted of Necromancers. Still, Rabier had no idea of such. He watched Rabier's head slowly move in the barest of motions as he nodded feebly, before remaining completely still once more, his clothes utterly ruined from where he'd struggled from the pain that had been inflicted. Rulk only allowed him a bare minute to recover.

"Get up. Tell your guards to leave, and then take me to the demi-humans. Tell no one of my presence here."

"O- of course!" His voice had lost all its previous pompous air, sounding utterly defeated. He hobbled up onto his feet, almost tripping over himself as he tried to rush out of the room.

Rulk snapped his fingers, dispelling the _Private Sanctum_. He waited patiently in the room, listening as Rabier rushed to do as he was midden. The man tried to remain a sense of dignity, but he sounded so utterly broken as he hurriedly ordered his guards to leave their posts and return to their homes. When he at last returned, head hung low, still reeling from the aftermath of the spell designed only to cause pain, Rulk simply nodded and disguised himself once more.

Rabier didn't even have the strength to make any comment of the feat. Excellent.

"Take me to them," Rulk ordered, walking toward the man who was fidgeting nervously by the door, probably trying in every way possible not to trigger the Geas. "Remember: tell no one that you've met a half-orc."

With a final fearful nod from the lord now only in name, he was led out of the mansion to the dungeon complex below.

-o-o-o-

He had been to the dungeons of Pitax, where Irovetti had kept the dissidents of his kingdom who dared speak out against him. He had seen the tiny cells, their occupants still languishing inside when he and his companions finally stormed the keep.

He had been to Vordakai's tomb, and saw how the ancient Cyclops had twisted the will and souls of the former denizens of Varnhold, turning them into his mindless thralls. He had seen how Maeghar Varn's soul had been trapped within a jar, doomed to remain there for eternity had it not been for the intervention by Rulk's party.

He had seen the warring barbarian clans, those led by a mind-addled Armag against those who didn't acknowledge his leadership. He saw the brutality in their strikes, movements that aimed to gore, eviscerate and kill.

Those actions all had a _purpose _to them. Irovetti desired control over his subjects and kingdom, Vordakai wanted to enforce his dominion and carry out revenge on those who had stirred his tomb, and the barbarians spoke only the language of blood and war. The sight that now lay before him was anything but that.

The ground was damp, and though there was hardly any lighting his natural Darkvision saw the specks of red intermingling with the small puddles of bloodstained water, crimson fluid long since having burrowed deep into the stone floor. The moment they had entered, he had seen how the occupant of the first cell had retreated to the furthest end of his cell, the rattling of the shackles that bound his arms echoing across the complex, looking fearfully at his torturer and the unfamiliar human who had joined him.

Rulk didn't waste any time. A barked order at Rabier, and the man almost fell over his own feet to free the boy from his chains.

He looked at the demi-human, who had hurriedly retreated from Rabier the moment he had become free. He was still terrified, looking uncomprehendingly at the situation. Mistrust, hope and fear warred in him, as though thinking this to be some sort of cruel trap.

He saw how the child winced as he moved. His clothes were tattered, with angry red lashes that seeped through, droplets of blood still coming out of his wounds. The blood he had noticed earlier on the whip must have belonged to the boy.

Slowly, Rulk kneeled before him in the least intimidating way he could. His heart wrenched when the boy's face scrunched tight, as though expecting a blow to come. _That damned Rabier_.

He focused, drawing on the power of his Orb to fuel a spell that he had never casted in his time as a wizard. Harrim and Tristian could effortlessly heal the boy of the wounds that had been inflicted both in body and mind, but here Rulk was no better than the most novice of clerics.

"_Magraetium turino," _he incanted, repeating the words of Evocation he had heard his friends say countless times.

There was a flash of light, his palms glowing from the magical healing that signified the casting of _Cure Light Wounds, _a glow that was replicated along the lines where his flesh had been forcefully carved out from Rabier's whip. Flesh stitched together at the edges, and Rulk saw how the boy flinched, but his spell faded before fully reversing the effects of Rabier's macabre method of _entertainment._

He conjured several _Goodberries_, handing one over to the child. "Eat," he said slowly.

The child was so famished, he ate one berry, and barely paused before he ate two more quickly.

Enough food for _three days_ eaten was consumed within several seconds. Just how much had Rabier tortured these children?

"Who… are you…" The child's voice cracked, still drowsy despite the feeble healing magic Rulk had performed. He would need to make sure that the local clerics or medicine-men saw to the captives once he was done here.

"A friend," he said gently. Then, he turned toward Rabier, a thrill of satisfaction running through him as the man flinched. "_He _won't be hurting you anymore."

It wasn't a question, but Rabier immediately spoke his agreement. "Yes! Yes! Of course!"

"Are… you… a Hero…?"

A Hero? Not likely. "Yes," he lied.

"I knew it…" his lids were drooping over, drifting in and out of consciousness. "Rifana-chan always… said…"

_Rifana?_ Who was that? He couldn't ask the child anymore; with that final statement he had finally collapsed out of exhaustion. Rabier's torture just before his return to the mansion and the aftermath of the magical healing must have sapped him of all his strength.

"When this is done, you _will_ see to it that everyone here is given the best care possible," he told Rabier warningly. "If I find that a single _hair_ on their heads is out of place, I'm coming after you, and then whichever one of your underlings was foolish enough to test my patience."

The man's spirit was shattered. He nodded obediently, not even testing the Geas with his innermost thoughts any longer.

Perhaps Rulk had gone a little too far with _Power Word Pain. _Then he looked around himself, and justified every last bit of suffering that the torturer had gone through.

He continued onward, the pair freeing the chained captives in Rabier's dungeon. He saw how some of them had eyes that were so _empty_ they seemed to be only going through the motions, barely reacting even when their shackles had been removed. It wasn't a coincidence they had no recent wounds, with how Rabier so delighted in his victims' terror.

_No longer. _As long as Rulk was here, this atrocity would never be allowed to repeat once more.

Some had been on the very precipice between life and death itself, their bodies emaciated and so deathly cold. For that, a mere _Cure Light Wounds_ hadn't sufficed, and Rulk dove into his stock of healing potions without hesitation. With the quality that they were made at, having been crafted by Jubilost himself, it had only taken a few drops of the liquid for their breathing to settle. Despite that, recovery was going to be a long and difficult road.

Then there were others, much like the child he was currently facing.

"How can you just stand there like this?!" A child with short silver hair and dog-like ears made evident only to his Darkvision looked up at him angrily, his small fist caught in Rulk's palm. "How can you let this _monster_ live?"

It had been the second-last cell in the entire dungeon. Scores of slaves had already been set free, and where they remained conscious and lucid Rulk tried his best to convince them of his intentions.

Not many were trusting of him, clearly expecting treachery of some sort from any one who would associate with Rabier, given what he learned of the circumstances by which Rabier had forcibly taken the demi-humans captive following the devastation of their homes in the wake of the first Wave. Still, he at least managed to convince them to stay put, rather than risk leaving the dungeon right then and potentially getting killed by Rabier's men before he could install his new policies regarding the demi-human race.

Upon his arrival in front of his cell, the boy had defiantly glared at Rabier, and then looked at Rulk with obvious mistrust. Rabier had unlocked the cell, removed his shackles, and was then promptly pounced upon by the child, raining his tiny fists down upon the plump noble. A haughty look had returned to Rabier's face, and Rulk saw how his hands had inched toward his waist – presumably where his whip was normally kept – before the magic of the Geas took over, and he once more turned deathly still.

Rulk intervened seconds later. Rabier's face was now very slightly bruised, small droplets of blood running from his nose. The boy continued struggling, turning to pelt at the newcomer who was keeping him restrained, but through the natural toughness of half-orc skin and the child's obvious lack of conditioning or training, Rulk barely felt the impact of his blows.

"Answer me, damn it!" The boy shouted at Rulk. Of all the captives he had met thus far, this one was the most spirited.

"His punishment will come later," Rulk said. The boy was still incessantly attempting to get around Rulk's form, struggling to get free from his grip. Rabier was now standing up, watching the scene unfold from the corner of the cell.

"He deserves to die!" the boy shouted, angry tears streaming from his eyes. "He _killed _Rifana-chan!"

That was the second time he heard that name. He turned toward Rabier questioningly.

"The girl…" the lord's voice cracked, still raspy from extreme overuse following Rulk's first lesson. "She didn't react, so I never…"

"She never reacted to your torture because she was _SICK_!" the boy shouted. "SHE WAS SICK, AND STARVING, AND –"

The boy didn't continue, sobbing incoherently. Rulk heard enough. Death by disease was one thing. Death by disease, starvation and neglect, all while a lord sat comfortably in his mansion high above was another. That Rabier had never even remembered the girl's _name_ made it worse.

"Rabier." Rulk spoke in an icy tone, one he had learned brooked no argument in his time as king. "I am only going to warn you this once."

He placed a hand below Rabier's chin, forcing him to meet Rulk's eyes where previously he had avoided so much as _looking_ in Rulk's direction where he could after being subjected to _Power Word Pain_. He stood up fully, the half-orc physique towering over Rabier's stout one. "You live because you still have use. You _breathe_ because _I_ will it. You serve _me _now."

He didn't even need _Thaumaturgy _to appear intimidating. Right there and then, he knew he had Rabier's undivided attention. "To me, sins of omission are just as damning as sins of commission. If you _dare_ attempt to withhold something like this from me again, I'll make sure you know that my showing earlier was me being _lenient."_

It was even partially true. Regongar had many more ideas in mind for the Numerian slavers in the discussions they had. Though Necromancy spells weren't exactly to his taste, he did have the required spell-work for _Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting_, _Soul Cage, _and _Finger of Death _meticulously noted down in his spellbook. His suggestion of instantly removing the moisture from captured slavers, turning their bodies inside out, then trapping their souls in an urn and paying for the services of a _Resurrection_ spell from a Cleric to repeat the deed over again had left even Octavia horrified.

Meekly, Rabier's head bobbed up and down. Off to the side, the child had calmed slightly, but the suspicion he had towards Rulk had only grown.

No surprise. His words had made him seem like a slaver, too. At least he wasn't about to break his fingers with untrained punches any time soon.

"What is your name?" he asked the child.

"Keel." The word was enunciated clearly, despite the conditions he had been subject to since forcibly being taken by Rabier's men that must have sapped at his strength. For all that he had suffered, his spirit had remained unyielding.

In that regard, he reminded Rulk almost of Amiri. She had been born to a barbarian tribe that had strictly rejected her worth as a warrior solely for the circumstances of being born female, only to prove them wrong time and time again with her indomitable spirit.

He took out the few _Goodberries_ he had remaining. "Eat."

The boy refused to do so, looking at him with continued suspicion. Rulk sighed, taking one of them for himself to show that they weren't poisoned. Only then did he take a tentative bite at one, eyes widening, before continuing to eat the rest.

He must have been famished. Rulk's respect for the boy grew. Amiri would _definitely_ have wanted to meet him.

"Stay here, for now. We'll return and get you –"

"No." The boy – Keel – interjected. "I'm not letting _him_ out of my sight."

The look in his eyes was so much like Amiri's as he stared at Rabier. Wistfully, he wondered once again what could have happened to his companions. Had the Lantern King killed them? Or were they still trapped within the First World? Could they have –

No, now was not the time for that. "Fine," he told Keel, then turned to Rabier, his voice hardening. "Come."

They were moving to the final cell now. He kept an eye on the pair trailing behind him, lest the child unwittingly found a way to get Rabier killed. As much as Rulk didn't want to admit it, the noble knew more about the local politics, business and social situation, and that knowledge was going to be of extreme importance if he truly wished to change the backward ways of this land.

He turned, about to unlock the door and free the slave from captivity, when he paused at the sight before him. The only denizen within was the skeletal remains of someone who was obviously a _child_, flesh already decomposed, bones not even disturbed from within clothes that could barely amount to rags.

He knew who this was. _Rifana._

He had seen similar sights in the many dungeons he'd explored in his time as an adventurer, but none had hit him quite as hard as this. None of them had been mere children, left to die a slow and drawn out death at the hands of a tyrant.

"_Rifana-chan…"_ he heard Keel gasp from behind him. He staggered toward the body, his knees crashing to the floor as he tried to grasp at what remained of her hand. The carpal bones had long since lost their articulation with one another, not even allowing him that mercy.

Silently, Rulk knelt down by his side. For long moments, the only sound was the boy's loud sobbing. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, but even Rabier seemed to stiffen.

"Tell me about her?" he asked as gently as he could.

"She was…" He sniffled, attempting to rein in his emotions. "Rifana-chan was kind, and gentle, and…"

He allowed the boy to take his time. He knew this sort of pain well.

"She loved stories, you know?" he said wistfully. "Stories of knights and heroes, legends and monsters, kings and queens…"

That sounded like Linzi. The Bard always loved her stories. He remembered how Linzi had valiantly attempted to stand up against Nyrissa, only for her soul to be trapped in the journal she carried with her where she had jotted notes of her adventures. He tried to imagine a life where he'd never met Linzi in the Aldori mansion all those years ago.

He imagined a world where she was dead, killed off as a child before even so much as attending the Pitaxian Academy of Grand Arts. It was almost inconceivable, and yet here and now, the life of a child had been snuffed out before even truly beginning.

He imagined himself in Keel's shoes. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for Linzi. She was his oldest friend, the first one by have stuck by him when the Aldori mansion had been attacked by Tartuccio's treachery. He would defy fate itself for her sake.

…he would _defy fate_.

"Keel," he said slowly, repositioning himself to kneel at her side. "I need you to step back."

The boy was confused, looking reluctant to leave her side, but the steely look in Rulk's eyes must have convinced him. Biting back a final sob, he moved to the side of the room, just opposite from where Rabier was standing. When that was done, Rulk closed his eyes.

In his time in this world thus far, Rulk had been incredibly selfish.

He had held back on using this particular spell. It sounded simple in concept, relying purely on using one's _voice_ to pluck at the Weave, without additional furnishing by reagents of any sort. It worked at the threads of fate and destiny itself, rewriting reality itself to his desires. Power came at a cost; the more complex and imprecise his desire, the more taxing the casting would be and the greater the chance of achieving an unintended result. Greater wizards than he had died, or simply _vanished_ after casting it just once, never to again be seen.

It was the pinnacle of Conjuration magic. It could easily replicate any other spell of a lower level, but even with the reduced strain that came with having a pre-defined matrix, there had still been tales of wizards completely losing access to the Weave forevermore. It was a spell that had consistently been memorised in his mind since he had first learned how to use it, and yet had never been casted because of the potential harm it could bring.

Now, though, he couldn't simply stand by and remain _selfish_ any longer.

"I want you to watch this, Rabier."

He inhaled deeply, and with that, he began the spell.

"_Vocare." To call. To Conjure._

The essence of magic itself flooded through him.

He opened his eyes, channelling the raw power of the Weave through his very body. _He _was a part of the Weave. He was _magic _itself. Power thrummed through him, and he felt just exactly why the spell made one simultaneously feel so powerful and so humbled. Compared to the threads of magic that interacted and bound all Creation together, Rulk Wardweaver was _nothing._

Runes and symbols, glyphs and sigils of all sorts appeared all around him, floating in a pattern that was so incomprehensible to the mortal mind but now made perfect sense to Rulk, connected to all magic as he was. It was breathtakingly beautiful; so utterly indescribable, chaotic and yet in perfect harmony. He saw the representations of _Transmutation _and _Evocation_, _Necromancy_ and _Divination_, even obscure runes of a meaning he could hardly discern, and matrices he had seen only in texts of _this world._ The Weave encompassed _all._

They moved, constantly rearranging themselves, mimicking the ever-meandering currents of fate and destiny. He peered into them, and instinctively he knew what he had to do. He concentrated hard on just what his intended outcome was.

"_By the will of Mystryl, Lady of Mysteries, Mother of all Spells, let my words be heard." _It was like it had been with the casting of Geas, only now his voice was magnified manifold more, reverberating with the natural oscillation of the threads of existence that spun all around him.

_Cast a Resurrection spell on the remains of Rifana before me, at this present time and place._

"_Volo._" _I Wish._

The glyphs moved. The sigil of Necromancy grew larger, finding its place among all the other methods mortals used to describe the primal workings of magic. It grew, spiralling first around the room, then over the skeleton before him. There was a flash of light – the dazzling white that marked the opposite end of the spectrum of Necromancy than the eerie green of decay and destruction – and then slowly, fate was _rewritten_.

Bones attached. Flesh knit together. Cells, tissues, organs, _systems_ returned, and with a final turning of the Weave's loom, guided by Rulk's desire alone, his _Wish_ was granted.

He panted rapidly, hunched over, the sense of power he had felt so transiently now leaving him. Once more, he was just Rulk Wardweaver. But the girl –

She stirred. Her eyes opened. He heard gasps from behind him, and he wasn't sure whether they came from Keel or Rabier.

"Huh?" the now living and breathing Rifana whispered. "I dreamt… that I was so far away…"

"Rifana-chan!" Keel rushed over to his friend. "You… _what?_"

"Keel-kun?" Her eyes fluttered weakly, her voice sounding groggy. This was no _True Resurrection _that he casted. Her mind, body and spirit must still be heavily taxed from their passage from life, to death, and then back to life. "What… are you doing… here?"

The boy was speechless. Once more, his hard exterior faded, and he promptly turned into a bawling mess, hugging his friend tight as he said incomprehensible words over and over.

"You're real…"

"Silly…" her voice drifted away. Rulk watched the pair, and despite the aftermath of the _Wish_ spell still leaving him numb, he felt a strangely warm sensation within. _This_ was what he fought for.

"How?" For the first time since being exposed to Rulk's spell, Rabier dared to ask him a question. "Who _are_ you?"

The man was genuinely speechless now. Whether it was awe at the feat he performed, fear at knowing that Rulk was actually capable of following up on his earlier threats, or possibly a combination of the two, Rulk didn't know.

"You've seen what I can do, Idol Rabier," he said softly, not wanting to disturb the pair of children before him. "Remember what I said earlier."

Plans had to change. Seeing the sight in front of him, he remembered the basis upon which his barony and kingdom was built. _Mercy before Law._

Perhaps some good could come out of Idol Rabier's depravity. His land had resources, people and authority. He had connections. Bound as he was by the Geas, Rabier would act as his mouthpiece in officiality.

"There's going to make some changes around here, Idol Rabier."

-o-o-o-

_Journal Entry #10_

_Very__ tiring day. Summary: started a bar fight, infiltrated a mansion, made local noble my puppet and saved a kid's life. _

_Those complicit in the seizing of demi-humans from Rurorona Village have been removed from their posts. Rabier has been strangely compliant, though whether it is out of fear for the Geas or some sort of genuine change on his part is hard to say._

_Captives have been rescued from the dungeon, and are currently being housed in Rabier's mansion. If he had any protests, he learned his place well. Gold from his estate is being used to fund the healing and medicine needed to help them at this present time. __If the guards thought that his order was uncharacteristic of him, they didn't dare voice their opinions. __Ah, the joys of having an oppressive tyrant as my underling in all but name._

_Further grilling of Rabier, now that the situation has settled, revealed some concerns that I will need to immediately deal with. Upon questioning him of ways in which he might have _thought_ to oppose me (despite all that had happened tonight, I had a brief chuckle at how he seemed to panic at the thought of how that may trigger the Geas), I learned of the existence of a monster of some sort that had been sealed by Legendary Heroes of the past beneath a monolith within the town. On the morrow, I will investigate this._

_I have worked out the details of our… arrangement, for the lack of a better term. Thus far, only he knows of my true form and identity, and the Geas bids him that it remains so. Beyond that, for all intents and purposes, he remains the figurehead of authority of this land. Of course, all decisions will be made through me. He knows the consequence of stepping out of line. It is my desire that one day, he may truly redeem himself for all that he has done._

_Yes, Jubilost, I am a hopeless optimist. Laugh it up._

_Tomorrow, the first of my proposed changes shall come to pass. In his lands, slavery shall be made illegal. Existing slave owners will be compensated (with Rabier's gold, of course – he has no need for such luxury now). It is sure to make waves and attract attention, but thus far aside from Rabier only those in the dungeon know of my existence and the power I possess. I will attempt to explain myself, and the importance of secrecy. Otherwise, though I am very loathe to do so, I may need to use Modify Memory on them. I intend to sequester myself away from the public eye, and to change disguises frequently so as to throw off any suspicions that others may have._

_The displaced demi-humans will need a place after this. Part of me wishes to recreate Rurorona Village, and return their home to them – it will certainly be far easier, but I know that this is hardly the solution. Separation would only perpetuate discrimination. For true co-existence, for the races of this land to be equal, they would need to intermingle with one another. As for how that could come to pass, I am still uncertain._

_For now, they will be housed in the Rabier estate. He certainly has enough gold to fund their lodging and sustenance for a long time. Beyond that, though, I do not see a good solution to put an end to the blatant racism of this land. No matter what, every kingdom of this world sees one race as superior. It had been far simpler when I ruled Tuskdale._

_This really hadn't been my plan when I set off for the Rabier estate today. Then again, becoming a baron hadn't exactly been something I actively desired. Perhaps things could work out._

_Sarenrae willing, I hope I have made the right decision._

* * *

**Hope it wasn't too terrible.**


End file.
